


An Imperfect Man

by Eliza_Peggy_Angelica



Series: A Novel of Alexander Hamilton [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: 18th Century, 19th Century, Adultery, American Revolution, Angst, Canon Era, Dubious Consent, Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler Deserves Better, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Historical canon fiction, If you know the story you know what that’s referencing, Internal Conflict, M/M, POV Alexander Hamilton, Still be safe, To Whomever is reading this: I hope you have a nice day, duels, that’s it. That’s the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 136,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza_Peggy_Angelica/pseuds/Eliza_Peggy_Angelica
Summary: Alexander Hamilton came up from the ashes of a tragedy stricken childhood of Dickensian proportions with an all consuming desire to prove himself. Now in America, a group of colonies on the verge of rebellion and teeming with new opportunities, Alexander knows that he will not throw away his shot to make a name for himself and to cement his name in the history books.If only he knew what was to come.(Completed.)
Relationships: (For the last one only within the context of history), (implied) Alexander Hamilton/Angelica Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/Maria Reynolds
Series: A Novel of Alexander Hamilton [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850539
Comments: 104
Kudos: 84





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Side note: in case you were wondering how this came about, basically I noticed that there were a lot of historical fiction Hamilton novels, but none of them were majorly from Hamilton’s perspective. Which I think is wild because he has such a complex personal history that could be really interesting to delve deeper into. So I decided I’ll just do it myself.

“I never expect a perfect work from an imperfect man.”

-Alexander Hamilton, August 1788

_July 11, 1804, Weehawken, New Jersey_

I climbed down from the boat, stepping onto the dirt ground, Pendleton right behind me. He held the chest with the flintlock pistols inside under his arm.

The doctor we’d brought with us, David Hosack, remained on the boat, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat.

I breathed in the cool, early morning air and began walking up the path to where Burr and Van Ness would surely be waiting.

When I finally reached the ledge, the first thing I saw was Burr, pacing back and forth by the grove of trees. “Gentleman,” Pendleton said, and Burr and his second, William Van Ness, looked up.

“Mr. Burr, good morning,” I greeted, stepping forward to shake his hand. Burr reluctantly shook my hand, his grasp as firm as it had been when I’d first met him all those years ago.

Good Lord, how had we arrived here?

“Mr. Hamilton.” Burr nodded and retracted his hand, stepping back. 

Pendleton and Van Ness hurried over to the other side of the clearing, drawing lots. I watched them pensively, my hands clasped behind my back.

Van Ness drew the shorter straw, nodding his head in acquiescence to the loss. Pendleton opened the chest and produced the pistols, handing one to Van Ness. They loaded them meticulously.

Pendleton finished first, walking over to me and pressing the pistol into my hands. He lowered his voice. “Would you have the hair spring set?”

I shook my head, patting Pendleton’s hand. “Not this time.” 

I watched Pendleton walk off. I had made my decision. I would not shoot Burr. Pendleton had already tried to make me at least practice shooting, as a precaution. He had _begged_ me to, pressing a pistol into my hand some days before.

But, holding it in my hand, I knew I could not do it. I had made so many grievous mistakes in my life. I _would not_ make another.

To shoot Burr, to even _practice_ shooting Burr, would be preposterous. Burr has— and likely always will— be out for himself. To shoot me— to kill me— even if my political career is declining, would have far more consequences for him than for me.

I glanced out at the water, the sun in my eyes. Before Pendleton could speak, I held out a hand. “Stop,” I called, digging into my pocket. “In certain states of light, one requires glasses.” 

I put my glasses on and examined the pistol, now without a glare. I could see better with my glasses on. I glanced at Burr.

“This will do. My apologies for the delay. Now you may proceed.” I breathed in deeply, glancing out at the distant city, and I thought of my Eliza, home in bed.

Oh, Eliza, how many times had I wronged her? I would be sure not to do so again.

I’m broken from my thoughts by the sound of Pendleton’s voice.

“Are you ready, men?” he asked. Despite not knowing him very well at all, I didn’t miss the quiver in his voice.

“I’m ready,” Burr answered.

“Yes,” I murmured, looking up at the sun, my glasses perched on the bridge of my nose. I wondered if Philip was facing the horizon when he had dueled.

“Present.” Pendleton called and I raised my pistol, as did Burr. As I raised my pistol, I once again wondered how I had come to this point.

How had I, an illegitimate orphan from the Caribbean, arrived here, on the grounds of Weehawken, a pistol in my hand, standing on the ground of a country that I helped to create?

How had it happened? As a young boy, desperate to escape from the confines of my tragedy ridden childhood, I had never imagined this.

No, I had known I would be great, but this had never been part of my plan. 

I glanced out at the waves on the distant Hudson River, much like the waves of a Caribbean beach where I had imagined running away and making a difference all those years ago… 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 1765-February 19, 1768

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Part One: To Rise Up

_  
April 1765, Christiansted, St. Croix _

My first memory as a child is looking out at the crashing waves when I was eight years old and holding my mother’s hand as I observed where we’d recently moved to.

“ _ Alexandre _ ,” my mother said, looking down at me. As time has passed, I don’t remember her face well. I only remember her voice. “This is where we will live now. But one day, one day, you will get on a ship, and you will leave this island.”

I looked up at my mother, tearing my eyes away from the sunlight reflecting on the crashing waves. “How?”

My mother smiled at me— a warm, comforting thing— and leaned down to cup my cheek. “Little Alex, you are smart. So, so smart. Your brains are what will carry you far, far away from this island.”

My mother’s face grew sad, and I leaned up to throw my arms around her neck, burying my face in her long, chestnut hair that always smelled of salt.

My mother smiled at me and I turned to look out at the horizon. I could vaguely see the shape of my older brother, James, running in the sand.

I imagined climbing on a ship, like the ones I always saw in the harbor, and climbing on, waving farewell to my mother and my family, and sailing away, never to return.

Of course, then, I had no semblance of an idea of where I’d go or what I’d do. All I knew was that I liked reading, and that I was smarter than James.

And, in that moment, I decided that I’d leave the island one day. I wouldn’t rot away there forever like the hundreds of others who had said they’d leave, too.

No, I would leave here one day. And I’d go far away. I knew it.

When I was nine years old, my father left town for a court case a little ways away. He was standing by the door, a rucksack over his shoulder, when I dashed from my room to throw my arms around his chest.

My father stumbled back, awkwardly patting my head. “There, there, Alexander,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

I nodded and stepped back as my mother and James entered the room. James hugged my father and my mother walked over to kiss him.

“Travel safe, James,” she said, so quiet I shouldn’t have heard her. “Be back as quick as you can afford without injuring your health.”

My father nodded, squeezing her arm. “I will, Rachel.” Mother stepped back and Father raised his hand in farewell, stepping out the front door.

That was the final time I saw my father.

As I walked in the streets a few weeks later, I could hear the whispers around me. The news of the successful court case were printed in every newspaper, which only made the blatant absence of James Hamilton more noticeable.

“I suppose he couldn’t bear the stain on his name,” one woman whispered as I passed. I kept my head down. Unlike James or my mother, despite the fact that I was small and slight, I never easily faded into the background. I didn’t like being ignored, and my strong personality and presence helped prevent that.

But now? Everyone was acutely aware of who I was and I wished they didn’t. Usually, people didn’t say much to me or to James unless we were with our mother. That was not the case this time.

“His ‘wife’—” the woman’s companion put that word in quotations— “is a whore, and so are his children. I’d leave as well.”

I balled my hands into fists and swirled around on my heel, glaring at the women. “My mother is not a whore!” I yelled, drawing the attention of several people in the street.

The woman only laughed. “Sure she isn’t.” The woman took a step towards me, narrowing her eyes. “You have to accept it, child. Your mother is a whore, and you’re a little whore child.” She shrugged. “It’s as simple as that.”

I puffed up my chest, anger swelling in my chest at the nonchalant way they’d insulted my mother. “Take it back.”

Before the women could respond, Thomas Stevens, a friend of my mother’s, was suddenly at my elbow. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, his grip on my arm tightening.

The woman and her companion shook their heads. “No, sir. We’ll be leaving now.” They strolled off, sparing but a glance at me as they did.

I threw off Thomas’ arm, turning to glare at him. “I’m alright, sir. I had it handled.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, his gaze softening. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” I shook my head.

_ Not physically, anyway _ . But it wasn’t as if my wounded pride was something Thomas Stevens or any doctor on this island could fix.

“Mr. Stevens, even if they had, what could be done about it? I’m alright.” I might have been young, but I was old enough to know what I was in the eyes of society, and I knew that I didn’t matter to them.

One day, I would. But not then.

Thomas sighed, glancing around. “Where’s Ajax? If I understand, your mother sent him to watch over you?”

I shrugged. Ajax was one of my mother’s slaves. She had sent him to look after me, as I had a penchant for getting into trouble. “He had to stop to pick something up. I ran when he turned.”

Thomas rolled his eyes fondly. “You should be off to fetch him, Alexander. And, remember, everything they say is malarkey.”

“Mr. Stevens,” I began, “I may be young, but you needn’t lie to me. Everything they say  _ is _ true. I am a bastard.”

Thomas flinched and I scampered off before he could say anything else. As I ran home and people whispered, I wondered why this was happening to me.

My mother, James, and I deserved happiness, right?

And, although I didn’t know it then, this would become the beginning of a long string of tragedies yet to come.

That same year, my mother moved our little family, now down to three members, to a little house on number thirty-four Company Street.

Immediately, my mother began running a store on the first floor, selling anything and everything to keep our family afloat.

Despite what the neighbors said about me, my mother, and James, the snobs that made up our neighborhood didn’t care who sold them what as long as they got it.

“Mama,” I said, browsing some of the books on the shelves, which would ultimately be sold, “do you think I should begin to work?”

James had begun interning under a carpenter, confirming to me what I’d always known: that James had little to no skills.

Mama looked up from the account books, the look in her eyes changing from anxiety to affection as she met my eyes. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your schooling. Remember,  _ Alexandre _ , your brain is what will liberate you from here.”

Because of my birth status, the Christian school nearby would not take me. However, a nice Jewish woman a few blocks away schooled me often.

“I don’t think it will,” I said, browsing through the pages of Shakespeare’s  _ Hamlet _ . My mother caught my eye again and I slid the book back onto the shelf under her scrutinizing gaze.

Before my mother could speak, someone opened the door to the store and my mother was smiling tightly at them.

I watched with a keen eye as the man browsed. Finally, he placed a few bundles of silk on the counter, paying with no trouble.

It was always nice to see someone simply respect my mother, instead of trying to bargain with her. To me, it seemed as if the neighborhood thought my mother was a fool as well a whore, and they liked to see if they could outsmart her.

As amusing as it was to watch my mother prove their assumptions wrong, the customer tended to turn to yelling, and I was forced to watch them berate my mother for being good at business, powerless to stop it.

When the man left, I hurried over to the coat rack behind the counter and put my coat on. “There is a trading company nearby,” I said to my mother. “Perhaps they’d like someone to work for them.”

I hurried inside the building at Beekman and Crueger. Inside, two men quietly argued behind a desk, their expressions baleful.

“Excuse me, sirs?” I said from the door, my hands clasped behind my back, and my back straight to display my full height. “I’ve heard you were looking to hire?”

The men exchanged glances. The taller one’s expressions dropped from baleful to mirthful. “How old are you, kid?”

I shifted from foot to foot. “I’m twelve, sir.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but a little white lie never hurt anyone, right?

“You look quite young for twelve,” the shorter one said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are you accusing me of lying, sir?” I asked. Despite the fact that I  _ was _ lying, I puffed up my chest and displayed my most affronted look.

The man shook his head. “No. What exactly makes you think you would be qualified to work here, boy?” 

I frowned. “My  _ name _ is Alexander. And I’ve balanced and clerked at my mother’s store for years.” I was glad that they were new to our island and, as a result, had no knowledge of the circumstances of my birth and no biases.

The talker man nodded and ducked under the counter, producing a black, thick, obviously unorganized book. He placed it on the counter with a thump.

“Here. Take our records, organize them, and return them to us in one week.” The man punctuated his statement by holding up a finger.

I stepped forward to take the book, holding it tightly to my chest, excitement blooming in my chest at the chance to prove myself to these men who knew nothing of me.

“That will do just fine, sir,” I said, nodding my head and hurrying out of the store, a smile slowly making its way onto my face.

Finally, I was one step towards my goal of leaving this infernal island.

I spent every night of the next week burning the candles and pouring over the men’s mismatched account and record book.

“ _ Alexandre _ ,” my mother called from our bed, rubbing her eyes. “Come to sleep.”

I shook my head. At my mother’s insistent look, I begrudgingly trudged off to bed, but even in bed I couldn’t sleep, my head racing as I thought of ways to organize the books.

I arrived at Beekman and Crueger’s at nine a.m. sharp the following week, the black book tucked tightly under my arm to keep it safe from the breeze. I pulled open the door, a smug smile on my face.

“Ah, Mister…” The taller man trailed off, looking at me curiously. I straightened.

“Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton.”

The man nodded, beckoning me forward. “Well, let’s see that book.” I handed him the book and he opened it. I grinned as his eyes widened.

“Crueger!” he yelled after a minute or so. Finally, I had a name to assign to the faces.

Crueger shambled out of one of the rooms in the left hallway, his eyes narrowing in confusion once he saw my face. “Ah, Alexander.”

“Come see this,” Beekman snapped, grabbing Crueger’s arm and pushing the book in his direction. Crueger raised a skeptical brow, but he complied nonetheless.

An impressed smile crossed over his features. He looked up at me. “Well, well, well, Alexander. It seems we’ve misjudged you.”

I preened under his compliment, unconsciously straightening my spine. “It seems you did.”

Crueger barked out a laugh, pointing at me. “I like him.” 

Beekman nodded at Crueger, the two exchanging a look. I fidgeted in anticipation. After their silent conversation ended and they seemingly came to a conclusion, Beekman stepped forward to shake my hand. “Welcome to your new job, Mr. Hamilton.”

I felt a smile erupt on my face, and I shook Beekman’s hand tightly. “It will be an honor, good sir.”

As I had come to learn, Beekman and Crueger specialized in many goods. Flour, rice, pork, iron, mules, cattle, and, worst of all, human cargo.

I had learned quite quickly that to work in the trading business, one must school their face to never show any emotion, lest you accidentally give away something you don’t want your customer to know.

Or anyone else.

They were lined up in chains, ready to be sailed to the British colonies of America. I pushed down the bile rising in my throat and checked off each box on my list.

_ One hundred and one _ …  _ One hundred and two _ …  _ One hundred and three _ …

As I walked on, checking each box, a man hovered nearby, and I realized Ajax would’ve come by now to bring me some sort of lunch.

I wondered if they did this by the docks, where so many enslaved people roamed to purchase goods for their masters, as a lesson in subordination, to remind them of their place in our world.

I checked off the next box and prayed that Ajax wasn’t watching. “Hurry up,” the man snapped at me, glaring harshly. I frowned up at him.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m going as fast as I can without miscounting.”

The man scowled, swinging his pocket watch in front of my face. “This clock is ticking, boy. Hurry up.” I glared at him as he turned and walked away.

I wished I had been at a liberty to not have to hold my tongue.

I checked off the next cargo on the list. It was always easier to refer to them as cargo, rather than as people. 

To refer to them as people made it all too real what their plight was and how I was powerless to help them.

_ Two hundred and thirteen _ …  _ Two hundred and fourteen _ …  _ Two hundred and fifteen _ … 

The sun was beating down on the docks when I finally finished counting every last one, hurrying up to the man overseeing them and holding the list in my hands.

“Everything is here,” I said, keeping my hands intertwined behind my back. 

The man nodded, holding his hand over his eyes as he squinted at me. “Alright. I’ll be sure to send payment to your bosses,” the man said, and I nodded approvingly.

“Have a fine day, sir,” I mumbled and hurried off as fast as I could while still standing tall and remaining as dignified as was possible..

I barely made it to the water in time for all the heat and the guilt brimming inside of me to come up.

When the new year was almost ringing in, my mother moved our little family to a small house at number twenty-three Company Street.

And, before I could even begin to adjust to the slightly longer walk to work, my mother moved us again right as the new year came, placing us back where we’d started at number thirty-four Company Street.

The constant moving didn’t exactly help my already fragile health, but I said nothing, focusing on my work.

When I returned home after work one day in February, my mother smiled at me, just as she did everyday, but something was visibly off about her stance.

“Mama?” I asked, hurrying over to the counter. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

Mother shook her head, leaning over the counter to squeeze my hand, still cramped from holding a quill all day.

One day, it wouldn’t hurt. One day.

“Quiet,  _ Alexandre _ , I’m alright. I’m simply tired.” My mother stood up, stretching and walking over to me to cup my cheek. “I’m going to go to sleep. Please, don’t burn too many candles.”

I flushed and my mother’s soft laughter echoed around the shop. She walked up the stairs to our living quarters and I pulled out a few books from my stack in particular, the ones that were mine, and I lit a candle.

I didn’t know it yet, but that would be the last time I felt safe and somewhat happy.

The next morning, I came to the dismaying realization that I had fallen asleep against the bookshelves.

The crick in my neck was enough to make me never want to stay up late enough that I’d fall asleep like that ever again.

I scrambled up and put my books back in their pile, frowning at the once new candle, long and smooth, that was now down to a dripping stub.

I set the candle on the store’s counter with a sigh, glancing at the clock. I froze. The clock read half past six in the morning.

The store opened at six.

I hurried upstairs. “Mama?” I called, pushing open our door. James was long gone, but my mother remained in bed. 

“Mama?” I cautiously approached the bed, placing my hand on my mother’s shoulder. As soon as I did, I retracted my hand.

My mother’s skin was burning like fire.

“Damn,” I mumbled, glancing around the room. I racked my brains, forcing myself to remain calm despite the panic building inside me, when I thought of the one woman a few doors down from us who’d never held any ill will for my mother or James and I.

“I’ll be right back,” I whispered to my mother, kissing her cheek and running off to fetch Ann McDougall, who would surely help us.

I brought Mrs. McDougall back to our house as soon as I could. Luckily, it didn’t take much convincing to convince her to come.

I led her upstairs to where my mother was still sleeping, her face pale and her sweat soaking the sheets of our bed. 

I stepped back as Mrs. McDougall grabbed a pitcher of water, giving some to my mother in increments. 

“Well, I should really be going…” I gestured towards the still open door. “I have to work.” 

Mrs. McDougall frowned slightly. “Mr. Hamilton, your mother is ill, and since you’ve been in close proximity to her, it’s quite likely you’re ill as well. You ought to stay.”

I shook my head, buttoning up my cost as I did. “Thank you for the concern, ma’am, but I assure you, I’m alright. I really must be getting to work now.”

Mrs. McDougall begrudgingly waves goodbye, and I scampered off to work.

Over the next few days, Mrs. McDougall spent most of the day watching over my mother and, once she left, James and I spent most of the night doing the same.

However, after a week of that routine, one morning I could barely pull myself out of bed, my limbs felt heavy and my head was pounding.

But, despite the temptation that was sleeping more, I dragged myself out of bed to get to work.

However, I spent the rest of the day with a pounding in my head and a heaviness in my limbs. Finally, after I nearly passed out while simply signing my name, Beekman stormed over to me.

“Hamilton, if you’re sick, go home. We can’t have you contaminating things.” He crossed his arms over his chest while I thought of something to say.

“Sir, really, I’m fine…” I swayed and Beekman snorted, slamming the book I was writing closed and snatching it away.

“Go home, Hamilton. Don’t come back until you’re healthy and hale.” I recognized that as an order rather than a suggestion.

I nodded and trudged off, simply throwing my coat over my shoulders instead of putting my arms through the sleeves.

When I returned home, I nearly collapsed walking up the stairs. My head was spinning, and everything seemed to be spinning out of focus.

“Alexander!” Mrs. McDougall gasped, seeing me clutching the wall near the top of the stairs. “You look awful.” She sighed and wrapped her arm around my waist, walking me the rest of the way up the stairs.

I climbed into bed with my mother, placing myself as close as possible to her and clinging to her warmth. 

I felt so cold and she was so warm.

“Oh,  _ Alexandre _ ,” my mother whispered into my ear, brushing my hair out of my face with a shaking hand. “I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head. “It’s alright,  _ maman _ .” I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face in her dress. My eyes started to slip shut and I allowed them to, welcoming slumber with open arms.

When I finally awoke some time later, I wasn’t alone. Beside Mrs. McDougall, there was a man holding a black bag.

My mother was facing me, her dark eyes watching me closely. “He’s here to help us,” she whispered, kissing my forehead.

The doctor abruptly turned to face my mother and I, smiling sadly. “Miss Faucette. Mr. Hamilton.”

The doctor walked around the bed towards me, crouching down to grab my arm. “This won’t hurt too badly,” he said, reaching into his bag and producing a sharpel from his bag and a small azure bottle containing what I knew to be laudanum.

I sat up without prompting and the doctor poured some laudanum into the bottle cap, raising it to my lips.

When the doctor held the sharpel over my arm, I didn’t feel much except for the pounding of my head. I watched the blood ooze out of my arm and drip into a bowl.

When the doctor wrapped my arm up, I felt my eyes flutter shut, and I curled up next to my mother, letting sleep take me.

Two days later, my mother and I had gotten no better. They had given us medicine, which we couldn’t afford, but it hadn’t seemed to make much of a difference.

I had finally resigned myself to the fact that I would never get to experience my dreams. I’d never leave this infernal island.

I wondered if anyone would care at all when the news of mine and my mother’s death reached the papers. Perhaps they’d rejoice at the clearing of the black stain on their otherwise perfect island.

“ _ Maman _ , I’m scared,” I whispered to my mother, coughing slightly. My mother turned over to face me, wincing as she did, and cupped my cheek.

“ _ Alexandre _ , do not be afraid. You are not going to die.” I rolled my eyes and my mother looked into my eyes. “Do you hear me? You’re intelligent,  _ Alexandre _ . So, so intelligent. Your intelligence is what will liberate you from here.”

My mother breathed in shakily, her dark eyes still boring into mine. “You were put on this Earth to do great things. And you shall.” My mother kissed my forehead and I burrowed my face into her bosom, relishing in the coolness of her skin against mine.

“I’m so tired,” I whined against my mother’s chest, wondering just how hard it would be to drift off to sleep. My mother simply shook her head, wrapping her shaking arms around my chest.

“Hush,  _ Alexandre _ . Save your strength.”

I nodded, closing my eyes and preparing myself for rest, but that was not the case.

I did sleep, but I woke up a few minutes before nine at night, feeling much lighter, the pounding in my head replaced with silence. I was still so tired, and I closed my eyes to return to sleep.

When the clock struck nine, my mother let out one final breath. 

I felt her arms slack around my chest and I sat up, my arms weak. “Mama?” I said, pressing my hand to her chest. “Mama?” My mother remained unresponsive, her eyes shut and her body limp. I shook her shoulders. “Mama!”

Only them did I notice her chest remained unwaveringly still.

“Mama!” I yelled, which woke Mrs. McDougall up.

“Oh, Alexander,” she gasped, once she’d saw me clinging to my mother’s dead body, tears leaking from my eyes against my will.

“No, no, no,” I screamed into my mother’s chest, sobs shaking my still frail, still slightly feverish body. I knew then that I’d be alright, but my mother would not.

My mother… my mother was dead. Dear god, my mother was dead and I was alive. I had lived.

I wondered if I had stolen away her strength, clutching her as I had.

I sobbed harder, the implications too much to bear, and finally Mrs. McDougall fled from the room, seemingly to fetch someone. I did not move. Instead, I remained clutching the body of my deceased mother as I tried, in vain, to make sense of it all, of the remains of my shattered life.

My mother had died and I had lived.

Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter is even longer, by the way. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I hope you have a nice day.
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 19, 1768-October 1772

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_February 19, 1768,Christiansted, St. Croix_

My mother had been dead for less than two hours when five men arrived in our home, seemingly from the probate court.  


“The boy is healthy? He’s cured?” One of the men asked, glancing at me, where I remained on the bed, curled up beside my mother.

I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want these men here, I just wanted everyone to go away and leave me to mourn my mother in peace.

_ Please, bring my mama back _ … I prayed uselessly. But I knew it would be to no avail. That wasn’t the first time I’d questioned the existence of a god.

If there was truly some higher power, why couldn’t they have saved my mother? Why had God let my father leave? Hadn’t I gone through enough? Didn’t I deserve happiness?

I’d soon come to learn that it wasn’t about deserve.

Mrs. McDougall cautiously approached me, as if I was a particularly wild animal that would flee at the slightest movement. “Alexander, you have to go now.”

I shook my head, keeping my grasp on my mother’s limp hand. “No. She hasn’t even been dead an hour.” I looked up at Mrs. McDougall, cursing the traitorous tears brimming in my eyes. “Can’t you leave me to mourn in peace?”

Mrs. McDougall sighed, turning to look at the men from the courts. Before she could even open her mouth to vocalize my question, a man shook his head.

“I’m sorry. We have to do this now.” He shrugged as if this meant nothing to them. That my  _ mother _ meant nothing.

Which I supposed, to them, it was just a case, and my mother just more paperwork.

Mrs. McDougall turned to me. “Please, Alexander.”

I shook my head. How was this fair? What had I done to deserve everything that had happened? Before Mrs. McDougall could say anything, my brother, James, burst into the room, his eyes wide.

“Oh god,” he gasped, stumbling back in his shock. 

“Jamie,” I whispered, flying into my brother’s arms, and sobbing into his raggedy coat. James’ arms were firm around me.

Although I had recovered from the illness, my legs and body were weak and James’ arms around my waist were the only thing keeping me from falling to the floor.

“She’s dead, Jamie,” I cried into James’ chest. “She’s dead, and I’m alive. Why? Why do I get to live and she doesn’t?”

James went rigid for a moment before he continued rubbing my back. “I don’t know, Alex. I don’t know at all.” I could feel James’ tear run down my forehead and I sobbed harder.

Why did I get to live? Although I didn’t know it then, it was a question I’d ask myself many times over the course of my life.

As it turned out, I wasn’t as well as I’d thought. As soon as the men from the courts left, I collapsed on the floor in a fainting fit.

I spent the next day or so being tended to by Mrs. McDougall and James. I was no longer feverish, just so,  _ so _ tired and weak.

Finally, after a day, I was well enough to stand and deemed well enough to attend my mother’s funeral. If it could even be called that.

Because of my mother’s “status”, the island had denied her a burial at the nearby church. Instead, she’d be buried by a grove of trees on our distant family’s estate.

It wasn’t right, not at all, but the townspeople at least had the decency to send James enough money to buy shoes for him— I already had a pair— and they purchased black veils for both of us.

Thomas Dipnsll, our landlord, purchased cakes, eggs, and white bread for us, and our cousin, Peter, donated eleven yards of black lace to drape my mother’s coffin.

But even such acts of kindness, if you even could call it that, didn’t make up for the years of harassment my mother, James, and I had faced. 

It didn’t make up for them disclosing our property, either. Nothing the people of that wretched town could do would make up for the fact that my mother was dead, and that James and I were orphans. We were well and truly alone.

As if to mock me and James’ pain, the sun shone as brightly in the sky as it did everyday, as if this wasn’t the day I buried my mother.

As if God didn’t owe my mother one  _ single _ act of kindness, for all the trials and tribulations he’d thrown her way.

It felt, to me, at least, that this was the universe’s final laugh at my mother. 

We stood in the backyard of the Grange, where a parish priest spoke. To me, it all sounded like rushing water. I couldn’t discern anything.

I glanced at her casket, tears brimming in my eyes as I did. I had never been more thankful for the black veil covering my face from onlookers.

“Oh farewell, blessed spirit,” the priest said, his voice low and mournful. “We bid you adieu. For you await a new destiny, in the land of the angels.”

I sniffed as the priest bowed his head in prayer. I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, willing myself to stay silent. I could mourn in my own time, but I would not allow anyone else to see me cry.

James squeezed my hand and I squeezed back. It was quite easy to remember, while drowning in my own grief, that I was not the only one who had lost a mother.

James had, too.

As the casket was lowered to the ground, I forced myself to watch, despite the temptation to look away. James was sobbing into his hand, but I remained steadfastly staring straight ahead.

I wanted them all to know I was strong. I would not be lowered by their insults and taunts. My mother had died holding me, but I was still here.

I would  _ not _ be brushed aside or be thought of as weak. I breathed in shakily, watching with red eyes as dirt was thrown onto the casket.

Once the funeral came to a close and James had dried his tears, we were introduced to our thirty-two year old cousin, Peter, who would be taking us in.

“What?” I blurted out, my eyes wide. Peter has never been stable exactly. If the rumors were true, he even harbored a slave mistress. How could the town entrust us to him?

“You will be staying with me,” Peter repeated, shooting us a tired smile. “If I recall, it’s not far from either of you two’s jobs.”

I shifted uncomfortably, exchanging a glance with James out of the corner of my eye. “And what of our mother’s shop?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter shrugged, as if it meant nothing. “I imagine it will be seized by the courts.”

Despite the fact that, logically, I had come to the same conclusion on my own, I still felt incredibly shocked. 

Before I could speak, James spoke. “Thank you, Peter, for opening your home up to us.” I nodded in approval when James looked at me from the corner of his eye.

Perhaps this could be a good thing. Peter seemed alright and stable enough. 

_ This could be good _ , I reminded myself, smiling up at Peter.  _ This has to work out _ .  _ It has to _ .

Unfortunately, while it seemed things were working out with Peter, the same could not be said for our legal issues.

My mother’s first husband, Johann Michael Lavien, had apparently not ruined my mother’s life enough by throwing her in jail and branding her a scarlet woman for life. 

No, he had decided that because my brother and I were born out of wedlock, we deserved nothing from her inheritance, and that it should all go to him and my mother’s only legitimate son, Peter.

“This can’t be right,” I said to our cousin, James. “It can’t be. We are biologically her children. Shouldn’t that be enough for the courts?”

James sighed, running a hand through his chestnut hair. “I don’t know, Alexander. Apparently, it’s not.” 

He turned to fully face me, placing his large hand on my shoulder. “You must have faith that everything will work out in the end.”

I frowned. I didn’t want to be patient or have faith. I wanted  _ answers _ of what was to come, so I could be prepared.

“Yes, James,” I said, fidgeting with the buttons on my coat. I glanced at the clock, thankful that it was nearly time for me to leave for work.

I stood up. “I really have to go to work. Thank you.” I nodded and grabbed my hat, hurrying out of Peter’s small house, slamming the door behind me.

I trudged off to work. I smiled softly as the sunlight got my skin. “Everything’s going to alright,” I said quietly to myself, ignoring the mixture of pitying and disgusted looks. “It has to be.”

We were held in a painful suspension for another few months, until finally it was ruled that because James and I were born in illegitimacy we weren’t entitled to anything.

It’s not as if I was surprised, but it still hurt to know that I would never again see my books, my mother’s beautifully carved mahogany chairs, —the nicest thing we owned— and the myriads I’d little things that made our shabby house a home.

The little things that made my childhood. 

It felt as if everything was crashing down around me and I couldn’t  _ breathe _ , no matter how hard I tried. In only a few years, I had become an orphan. 

The realization had struck me hard in the early hours of the morning, and I had found myself unable to sleep. I paced and paced until the sun had truly come up and I forced myself to dress for work.

It was all I had, now. All I had was a distant dream, a dream I couldn’t quite grasp, that I would one day leave this island and become known. My brother and I had never been close. It wasn’t as if I could cling to him. 

All I had was myself.

I was just walking to work when I ran into James Lytton, my cousin, who was balancing a stack of books in his arms.

“Alexander!” he called. I stopped in my stairs, turning to face James, forcing a tight smile on my face, as if I wanted to see him.

“James, hello,” I greeted, crossing my arms over my chest. “May I help you?”

Janes nodded. “Yes, actually.” He handed me the stack of books. I ducked slightly under the weight of them all. “You can take these.”

I nodded. “Would you like me to take them to my bosses?” I asked.

James shook his head. “No. They’re… they were yours. I bought them back for you from your mother’s auction.”

I felt my jaw drop and a smile formed on my face. Only then did I notice the very familiar titles on the books’ spines. “Thank you,” I choked out behind the lump in my throat.

James shrugged, as if he hadn’t just done the nicest thing possible. “It was my pleasure. Now, you go on to work.”

I nodded and scurried off, thankful that he’d given me a way out. I got to work a few minutes late, but, in a peculiar way, I didn’t care. 

I set the books down in a nest pile by my feet, under the desk. Everything was collapsing around me, but at least I had a memento of better days.

July sixteenth, seventeen sixty nine didn’t seem, at first glance, like it would be a day that would be any kind of spectacular.

I woke up as the sun rose in the sky, just as I did every morning. However, it would not be a normal day. Not in the slightest.

When I arrived at work, instead of being greeted with the sight of Beekman and Crueger as I always did, I saw Crueger and a new, blonde haired man.

I decided not to question it. Perhaps he was simply an investor, or something of the sort. “Good morning, sirs.” I nodded in the men’s direction and hurried to my desk, grabbing my work for the day.

“Hamilton,” Crueger said, snapping in my direction. I denied the urge to snap at him back. I looked up at him.

“Yes?”

Crueger gestured to the blonde haired man beside him. “Beekman quit. This is Cornelius Kortright. He’ll be my new partner and your new boss.”

I stepped forward to shake Kortright’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” I nodded my head and hurried back to my desk, taking out my files.

When I returned home later that evening, when the sun was going down, I trudged up the steps, just in time to hear an eerily haunting bang from inside the house.

A bang that sounded awfully like a gunshot. The bang reverberated through my bones and I felt my breath hitch in my throat.

I threw open the door, throwing my hat on the moth eaten settee and I ran to Peter’s room. I usually bathed into things with gusto, but I felt my hand freeze as I grasped the door handle.

All I had to do was turn the knob and I’d get my answer as to what happened… 

Before I could think it through properly, I pushed open the door and immediately I wished I hadn’t. Peter was lying on his bed, a gun dangling from his limp hand, and dark red blood quickly staining the sheets.

I stumbled back and grabbed the wall, forcing myself to force down the rapidly building bile in my throat.

Oh, Peter…

I turned on my heel and just made it to the porch outside the house in time for the bile to come up, despite my will.

Once I had pushed it all out, I dropped down onto the stairs, burying my face in my hands. I felt like I was going to be sick again.

I squeezed my cheeks with my hands.  _ Breathe, Alexander, _ I reminded myself, breathing in deeply through my nose.

My disgust and surprise soon gave way to anger.

I was so tired of  _ losing _ people. I looked up at the enigma that was our sky. “Haven’t you taken enough from me?” I asked up at the sky, my face dropping. “Can’t I have one nice thing that lasts?”

I had never even liked Peter. I was furious, nonetheless. Idly, I supposed that I should have seen this coming.

What was the one one common factor in all of these tragedies?

Me. 

Perhaps it was all my fault. I was sick in the grass again as James walked up to the house. 

“Alex, what happened?” James asked, carefully stepping around the bile and sitting beside me. “Alex?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, gathering my strength, before I spoke. “I had just arrived here from work. I heard a bang…” Images of Peter suddenly appeared in my brain. I forced myself to keep speaking. “I walked inside… there was so much blood, I didn’t know what to do…”

“Alex,” James interrupted me, placing a hand on my arm. I shrugged him off.

“Sorry.” I sighed. “I know I’m prevaricating. I— Peter shot himself in the head.” I looked away to keep myself from seeing James’ expression.

To say it out loud somehow made it worse than just overthinking how it was inevitable.

When James made no movement to do anything, I stood up. “I’ll alert the coroners.” I thought of placing my hand on James’ shoulder, but I quickly thought better.

James and I may have been brothers, but we might as well have been strangers. Our shared tragedy and blood might’ve tied us together, but I knew, without a doubt, that once James and I went down our paths, there would be minimal, if any, communication between us.

I walked down the street, another tragedy weighing heavily on my shoulders.

The coroners came and picked up the body. James and I remained outside in the sweltering heat, despite the fact that it was night.

James Lytton came up to me from the street, his eyes wide and his face expressing sadness. “Alexander, Jamie!” he cried, stopping right in front of us. “How are you both faring?”

I almost could’ve laughed. “We’re faring as well as can be expected,” I answered, looking up at cousin James. “Where will we go now?”

A small smile formed on Lytton’s face. “You’ll go with me. I’d be honored to take you in.”

James smiled, but my face remained blank. Had this happened even months ago, I would’ve been ecstatic. Cousin James had always been nothing but kind to us.

But I had come to learn that no one stayed, and that it was best not to let your hopes soar too high, lest you come crashing headlong into earth.

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s very much appreciated.”

Cousin James died less than a month later. The rumor around town was that he’d died of a broken heart. Frankly, I didn’t want to know how he’d truly died.

As if it wasn’t bad enough to hear it in passing while I was at work. I had to push back the urge to scream, to cry, to shout, to scream at myself for being even mildly surprised.

To make things even worse, James had drafted a new will, some days before he died.

Neither my brother or my name were mentioned anywhere.

That night, James and I sobbed into each other’s arms. As I buried my face in my older brother’s chest, the thought came to me, completely unbidden, that I shouldn’t rely on Janes, because if everyone else left, what would stop him from leaving too?

I clung to him a little tighter.

  
I was at work when Thomas Stevens walked in the door, his eyes growing light and jovial when he looked at me.

“Alexander, how are you?” Thomas rested his arms on my desk. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

I frowned. “I’ve been as well as can be expected.” I looked up at Thomas, making sure to look him directly in the eye. “My mother and cousin are dead.”

I took a small amount of pride at the way Thomas flinched. That man had always protected me— or at least he had attempted to— but once my mother died, I never saw him.

Now he had returned?

Why?

Thomas nodded. “ I suppose I deserved that.” I snorted. Thomas continued to speak. “Alexander, I would like to invite you and your brother to stay with my family and I.”

My eyes widened and I felt my heart begin to beat faster. “Why?” I blurted out. As soon as I did, I slapped my hand over my mouth.

Thomas breathed out a laugh. “Alexander, you and your brother have… not been treated kindly by life. You deserve it, nonetheless.”

I didn’t say anything. I pushed down the tears threatening to leak from my eyes. This was the kindest anyone had ever treated me in god only knew how long.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded and Thomas. “Thank you, sir. It’s very much appreciated.” 

Thomas shrugged, as if he hadn’t just done the kindest thing possible. “You know my address, correct?”

I nodded. Thomas continued. “Then I’ll see you whenever you are off of work. I’ll go on and tell your brother.” When Thomas reached the door, he paused and turned to face me again. “Thank you, Alexander.” 

As he walked away, I was left to ponder on what exactly he was thanking  _ me _ for.

The next few weeks were perhaps the most relaxed I had felt since my mother had become ill. However, in retrospect, I knew that I shouldn’t have allowed myself to become comfortable.

I was sitting outside with Thomas Steven’s son, Edward, or Ned, when my James walked out of the house, a brown rucksack over his left shoulder, the bottoms caked in mud.

I stood up swiftly, panic building in my head. “James?” I asked, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. 

James grimaced. “Alexander, can we talk?” 

After a moment, I nodded and Ned scampered off back inside the house. I waited until I heard the door close before I raised an eyebrow at James. “What is it? Where are you going?”

James sighed, drumming his fingers against his leg. “Alexander, I have a carpentry internship. I’m leaving to work.”

I blinked, schooling my face into a perfect picture of calmness, despite the fact that my head was spinning. “Alright.” I stepped forward and clasped James’ hand, shaking it. “Go on and love your life,  _ brother _ .” I practically spat the last word and took petty satisfaction when James flinched.

Before James could speak, I turned on my heel and began walking down the street before James could hurt me again. I had no idea where I was going, I just couldn’t bear to be around the Stevens family’s inevitable pitying looks.

I felt so utterly stupid.

The worst part was I had seen it coming, yet I was still shocked.

We— we being the Stevens family and I— were standing on the docks as Ned swung his bags back and forth. 

I looked out at the ships, and the image of me boarding one came to me. I shook it off and turned to Ned. “I’ll write to you,” I said, and Ned nodded.

“I need some way to remember home.” Ned suddenly sighed, his shoulders slumping when Mr. Stevens looked away. “I would prefer to stay home.”

I curled my hands into fists. I felt jealousy bubble in my stomach. Ned was leaving our vapid little island for the colonies, and he wanted to stay.

I turned to Ned and threw my arms around him. “I have to be going to work, but I’ll write to you,” I said, hugging Ned and waving as I walked off.

When I arrived at work, I collapsed at my desk, rubbing my temples. I had been patient, but I was still trapped on this dreadful island. Why?

What more could I do to speed up my liberation? 

I let my shoulders drop. Clearly my intellect wasn’t working. Perhaps what I really needed was a chance to prove my valor.

I turned to my papers, my quill weighing heavily in my hand.

“My Folly makes me ashamd and beg youll Conceal it, yet Neddy we have seen such Schemes successfull when the Projector is Constant I shall Conclude saying I wish there was a War.”

An Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Edward “Ned” Stevens, 11/11/1769

My cousin, Ann Lytton Venton, whom I had never met, arrived at the Stevens’ house one afternoon with a tired smile on her face.

“You must be Alexander,” she said, leaning down to cup my cheek. I forced myself not to flinch away. “I just recently returned to town once I got word of Peter’s untimely death.” Ann smoothed her dress. “Where is James?”

I frowned, fumbling with my fingers. “James left for a carpentry internship,” I replied, watching with petty satisfaction as Ann pursed her lips together in displeasure.

She quickly schooled her face to a smile, but I could tell that it did not reach her eyes. “Where do you work, Alexander?”

I stood up a little straighter. “I work at Kortright and Crueger’s, ma’am. I’m a clerk.” I watched as Ann nodded slowly, obvious pride on her face.

“Well, aren’t you precocious.” She fidgeted slightly. “I’m dreadfully sorry about the loss of your mother. As well as the… rumors.” Ann sighed and squeezed my cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t okay, but what did it matter, anyway? No one had ever been there when I truly needed them. Why would she be an exception?

Instead, I said, “It’s alright.” Ann shook her head, obviously amused, a short laugh bubbling out of her mouth. I narrowed my eyes. “Is something funny?”

Ann simply shook her head again. “You’re quite like your mother. You ought not to silence yourself.” Ann grinned brightly, and it finally reached her eyes. “I can tell that you’re smart. Don’t censor yourself, it will only serve to restrain you. Only hold your tongue when you think it  _ absolutely _ necessary.”

And, although neither of us knew it, that advice would change my life. I nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Ann waved her hand in dismissal. “We’re family, Alexander. Call me Ann.” 

I allowed a small smile to creep into my face. “Then I shall do as you request… Ann.”

Ann nodded and icky glanced at the clock. Her face suddenly paled and all traces of amusement dropped from her face. “I have to go. My husband…” Something in the way she said it made my blood run cold. 

“I will visit you though. We  _ are _ family,” Ann said right as she reached the door. “Until we meet again.” She blew me a kiss and blew out the door.

I watched her go. Her words echoed in my ears on a loop.  _ We are family _ …

Were we really? She had never been there and I barely knew of her? What could make me think she’d stay?

I wouldn’t allow myself to become naive again. “I will not,” I whispered to myself. “I’m smarter than I was before. I will not.”

Despite the fact that our little island was right in the midst of winter, the sun still shone as brightly as ever, causing droplets of sweat to trickle down my face.

I tapped my foot against my leg as the captain of the ship,  _ The Thunderbolt _ , took his time in fetching his cargo from his boat.

Mr. Crueger had left for the colonies in October of seventeen seventy-one, and had left me in charge.

I advised and surprised all of our clients, and I found myself returning to the Stevens’ home later and later as each day passed.

The captain of the ship finally walked over to me, and my jaw dropped when I saw the horrible state the mules that he was shipping were in.

I could visibly see their ribs and bones, and they all seemed a particularly hard gust of wind from falling to the floor.

“Sir, may I enquire as to what happened to the  _ healthy _ cargo?” I asked, my eyes flirting to the mules. It had recently come to my knowledge that  _ The Thunderbolt _ was partially owned by the Cruegers.

I wondered if Mr. Crueger had truly thought this out.

The captain broke me from my wandering thoughts. “We had few rations.”

I scoffed. “Sir, I beg you to reflect continually on the  _ unfortunate _ voyage you have just made, and endeavor to make up for the considerable loss therefrom accruing to your owners.” I raised my eyebrow challengingly and I took a breath.

The captain was gaping. He suddenly leaned towards me. I could smell the whiskey on his breath. “What makes you think you can talk to me that way? Huh?” 

I placed a finger on the man’s chest and pushed him back. “Sir, when my boss left for business, he left me in charge. And I could not, in good conscience, allow you to get away with your, frankly, unsellable cargo. Please, fix this. I bid you a good day, sir.” With that as my closing statement, I walked off.

I smiled to myself as I hurried back to the office. It felt nice to have the power to reprimand that man. 

_ One day, _ I reminded myself. One day I’d leave this island and be gifted with the recognition I deserved. 

Mr. Crueger returned to St. Croix in March of seventeen seventy-two. Just two months after Crueger returned, the Reverend Hugh Knox swept onto the island, taking a job as a pastor at the local Scotch Prebyterian Church.

I met him when I entered the church to drop off supplies of wine from the company. “Sir?” I called, my voice echoing in the church.

A tall, stout man turned from where he was lighting candies, a grin breaking out across his face. “Ah, you must be Mr. Alexander Hamilton!” I nodded.” I’ve heard much about you from your bosses.”

I nodded hesitantly, placing the box filled with bottles of wine on a bench. “All good things, I hope?” Knox and I laughed in tandem.

“Yes,” Knox said, walking over to me. “Your boss lauded your intellect. I hope to begin an acquaintanceship with you.” Knox shook my hand.

I shook his hand back and smiled. “That would be nice.”

Knox wrapped an arm around my shoulders, leading me to an open door. As soon as we approached, I ducked out from under Knox’s arm and I turned to look inside the room, which was filled with books.

I gasped and though Knox began speaking, I could barely hear him. “I open my library to you, Alexander,” Knox said, turning to face me.

I forced myself to answer him, rather than admire the books all day. “Thank you, sir.”

I turned back to the books, my hands itching to open the books and devour them. Knox placed a hand in my shoulder and I tensed.

“I mean not to be presumptuous, but I do believe we’ll be friends,” he said, and I nodded.

Perhaps.

It was raining for days beforehand when the hurricane arrived as the sun set on the day of August thirty-first. 

Perhaps I should have suspected when the winds practically blew my hat off of my head and the sun was hidden beneath dark, nearly black clouds.

I watched with slowly building anxiety from the relative safety of Kortright and Crueger’s.

“That storm is really raging out there, isn’t it?” I asked as Crueger hurried inside the shop, the door slamming shut behind him with the wind.

I gulped. “Do you think it’s a hurricane?”

Crueger turned to look out the window, where we could see the crashing waves and, if I squinted, the rain. Anxiety curled in my stomach.

“Get back to work, Hamilton,” Crueger snapped, but because of how long I’d know him, I could hear the tightness in his voice.

I nodded and turned back to my quill, writing down a letter to a nearby ship captain. As I was signing my name, a particularly loud crack of thunder reverberated around the building and my ink pot tipped.

“Shit!” I cursed, holding up the ink stained letter. “Now I’ll have to start over…” I retrieved another piece of parchment and an ink pot when Crueger suddenly hurried to my desk, slamming his palm down on the surface.

“Hamilton, go to the docks and tell the ships to go elsewhere. If you’re not back in ten minutes, I’ll lock you out.”

I balked, but Crueger’s face remained neutral. I nodded begrudgingly, grabbing my hat from the rack and hurrying out of the shop, running down to the docks.

The wind blew harshly around me. I held one hand on my hat, pushing forward as the lighting came down all around me and people screamed in terror.

How had things escalated so quickly in so little time?

I kept running, the docks in view. Behind me, there was a loud crash and I turned just in time to see a house crash to the floor.

The wind nipped at my face as I remained frozen in place. For so many years, ever since my mother had died, I had felt as if I was living on borrowed time.

Was this when time finally caught up to me? 

I steeled myself and shook my head. No, it would not be. I had so much left to do, and I’d be damned if Mother Nature was going to stop me.

I squinted against the sand blowing in the wind at the docks. The ships were moving.

_ Thank god, _ I thought, turning on my heel and running back to Kortright and Crueger’s. All around me, people crowded the streets, and I felt myself being shoved every which way as I struggled to push through the crowds.

The high pitched screams of the distressed seemed to be the perfect component to the crack of the thunder and the low whistle of the wind.

I couldn’t help but think that the scene was sufficient to strike astonishment into angels.

I finally pushed past the crowds to Kortright and Crueger’s. I ran inside and locked the door behind me, hurrying to the cellar.

Crueger was already down there. I closed the door behind me and crawled near a corner of the basement, covering my ears with my hands.

Perhaps this was exactly what this island had coming. For all their self proclaimed righteousness, they had criticized my mother, James, and I for years.

To me, this felt like heavenly retribution.

When the storm finally quieted at ten that night, Crueger and I hesitantly climbed up the stairs back to the main floor. And it was awful.

Glass from our windows littered the floor, the desks were tipped on the floor, their content scattered, and water ankle high caused some objects to float.

“I wonder how many casualties,” I said idly, more to myself than to Crueger. I couldn’t help but think of James. Despite the fact that he had abandoned me, I didn’t want to think of him breathing his last, of him kicking against the large waves, struggling to stay afloat… 

I pushed away the thoughts, glancing out at the destruction in the streets. My first thought, once I processed everything, was that someone ought to write about this.

Only then did I notice the silence and the yellow sky.

“Our distressed, helpless condition taught us humility and contempt of ourselves. The horrors of the night, the prospect of an immediate, cruel death—or, as one may say, of being crushed by the Almighty in his anger—filled us with terror. And every thing that had tended to weaken our interest with him, upbraided us in the strongest colours, with our baseness and folly.”

Excerpt of Alexander Hamilton’s public letter to  _ The Royal Danish American Gazette,  _ 10/06/1772

After the hurricane subsided, I had rushed home to the Stevens’ and, a few days later after a particularly insightful sermon, I wrote a letter to my father, detailing the hurricane and everything that had occurred.

I had shown the letter to Reverend Knox, who pushed me to publish it in the papers. Despite the recognition it would give me, I felt something akin to nervousness building in me at the idea that  _ anyone _ would be able to read my letter, detailing my feelings.

But after a day of being continually nettled by Knox, the Stevens, and my cousin Ann, I relented. Immediately, I knew I’d made the right decision in publishing it.

Everywhere I went, I saw someone either reading it or discussing it. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on it, mostly good. 

I was expecting a paycheck when I went to Knox’s library that day, maybe praise. I wasn’t expecting to see my cousin Ann there.

“Ann?” I asked, but I could barely get a word in when she charged at me, throwing her thin arms around my shoulders and shaking me.

“Alexander, your letter is… it’s incredible!” 

I preened under the praise, muttering a simple “thank you”, but Ann stares at me, clearly unimpressed. “Alexander, you needn’t act demure,” she scolded gently.

I nodded. “It is incredible, right?”

Knox and Ann howled with laughter. After a minute or so of laughter echoing around Knox’s library, Knox shook his head, reaching behind him and revealing a wicker basket.

“It’s for you,” he said, handing it to me. I slowly opened the basket, my breath hitching when I discovered the contents.

It was money. More money than I’d seen in my life. I knew I probably looked like a fool, gaping at the money as I was, but I forced myself to direct my attention to Ann, who was speaking.

“It’s money, enough money for a ticket to the colonies, a scholarship, and some extra.” I looked up at Ann, cursing the tears brimming in my eyes. “You should go.”

Knox nodded in support of Ann’s declaration. “Alexander, you’re brilliant. You  _ can’t _ stay here on this little island and let your talent go to waste. You’re destined to be more than a simple clerk.”

I thought of my mother’s words, said so long ago.  _ Your brains are what will carry you far, far away from this island. _

Gratitude and excitement bloomed in my heart. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I said, wiping my wet eyes with my wrist.

Knox shook his head. “Thank your cousin. She was your principal benefactor.”

I turned to look at Ann, smiling brightly at her. “Thank you. So much. You— you don’t know what this means to me. Truly.”

Ann shrugged and I breathed in a shaky breath, willing myself composure back. I took the basket and grabbed my hat. “Thank you.”

With that, I hurried off to buy a ticket.

As I boarded the ship to New Jersey, I felt my heart rate speed up in anticipation. My small rucksack over my shoulder was all I had.

As the ship left St. Croix’s harbor, I only allowed myself one glance behind me. I was going to a new land. St. Croix was behind me.

I instead turned to look ahead, where the boat was headed. And, looking at the crisp blue waters, I decided that I would never allow myself to rely on anyone again, be defined by my past, or be silenced again.

I would no longer be Alexander Hamilton, the bastard son of a whore. I would simply be Alexander Hamilton, resident of the colonies and a student.

And I was going to make sure that the world knew my name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter should be up in a few days. Thank you for the kudos, I hope you enjoyed, and have a nice day.
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 1772-April 1775

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_October 1772, En Route to New Jersey_

I was awoken from a fitful sleep on the deck of the ship by a loud shout. I jumped up in shock, still mostly asleep.

“What is it?” I asked, grabbing one of the crewmen rushing by me by his forearm. “What’s all the commotion?”

The guy pointed right behind him at where the helm of the ship was covered in red and orange flames, which rapidly crawled towards the sails.

“Good lord,” I gasped, panic blinding my vision. “No, no, no,” I mumbled. I had _not_ survived illness and a hurricane to finally be bested right as my life was truly about to begin.

Even from the other side of the ship, I could see the New Jersey harbor in the distance. I exhaled loudly and grabbed a bucket of water, running up stairs to the ship’s flaming helm.

It was only fire. And I would not go down without a fight. I pulled my arm back, grateful my arm didn’t buckle from the weight of the bucket, and I flung the water onto the fire.

Beside me, crewmen also threw buckets of water on the fire, but I could tell that it would not be quenched. Our best bet of survival was to push on to the harbor.

Another crew member clearly had the same idea as I did, as he yelled to the man at the wheel, “Keep going, man! We can make it to the harbor!”

I turned around and ran to grab another bucket. Unfortunately, I missed a step in my hurry and I felt myself tumble down the steps. 

“Goddamnit!” I yelled out, forcing myself up despite the pain in my ankle, and grabbing a bucket. On the bright side, my ankle would most likely just bruise.

As I hurried back to the helm of the ship, men threw off coats and shoes and threw themselves overboard, crying out once they hit the chilly water.

 _Fools,_ I thought, throwing my arm back and launching the water onto the rapidly growing fire. From behind the flames, I could see the New Jersey harbor.

I was _so close._ I repeated flinging buckets of water at the flames until there was none left. “What now?” I asked a crew member, who seemed as perplexed and at a loss as I was.

He shrugged. “Hope we make it to the harbor.”

I sighed and ran to grab my rucksack, throwing it over my shoulder, sweat dripping down my face. Now that I could do nothing but wait, I was painfully reminded of my bruised ankle.

I had never liked waiting before.

After what felt like an hour, but was likely only half an hour, we docked in the harbor. People quickly rushed to the flaming ship, desperate to quell the flames, and I flew off the ship as soon as the stairs were lowered.

As soon as I stepped foot on American soil, I suddenly felt as if everything I’d gone through— my father abandoning us, my mother’s death, Peter’s bloody suicide, the hurricane— it was all worth it, if only I was to arrive here.

I didn’t bother thanking the captain, who was still busy throwing water on the fire. I had places to be. I kept walking, and as soon as I stepped into a New Jersey street, I saw more people than I’d ever seen before in my life.

I kept pushing through the crowds, clutching my rucksack and pushing through until I arrived at a tavern.

I hurried inside and ordered a meal and a room for the night. As I dug through my bag for payment, I looked up at the man behind the counter.

“Sir, may I enquire about someone?” I asked, placing the correct amount of payment on the counter.

The man nodded. “Whom are you looking for?”

“A man named Hercules Mulligan. I believe he resides in York City, if my memory suffices.” When I informed Mr. Crueger that I was leaving for the colonies, he had informed me to go to Mr. Mulligan’s for a place to stay until I could apply for schools.

The man behind the counter’s face expressed recognition. “Oh, yes, I know him. He clerks at his father’s accounting business. Once you reach York City, I’m sure someone could tell you the street address.

I smiled at the man, taking my ale, soup, and room key. “Thank you, good sir.” I turned on my heel and sat down at a nearby table, taking a sip of ale and a bite of soup.

I ate my food silently, somewhat bored, when the people at the table beside me stood up, addressing the tavern.

“Have you read this madness?” The man yelled, waving a newspaper in the air. “The king taxes us and he taxes us! We must revolt against this tyranny.”

I turned around in my seat, waiting to see if anyone would react, but other than the man’s three friends, the tavern remained silent.

The man behind the counter cleared his throat. “Get out, rebel, before I inform the authorities,” he spat.

The man at the table shook his head, standing up, his friends following him. “Tory bastards, the lot of you!” One of the man’s friends shouted. With that, they left.

The tavern was silent for a long moment before someone began speaking and suddenly it was like it had never happened. A woman rushed from the back room to clean up the men’s spilled ale.

I turned to her. “Excuse me, fine Madame, but what was that?”

The women turned to look at me. She had fine blue eyes and long blonde hair. She couldn’t have been much older than I was. When she met my eyes, she blushed. 

“The King taxes us. Some people believe it’s over taxation and unfair,” the woman answered demurely, looking away.

I smiled, all thoughts of the event out of my head. “What is your name, fair maiden?”

The woman tucked a stray stand of hair back into her bonnet shyly, just barely meeting my eyes. “Natasha.”

I grinned, gently taking the woman’s hand and pressing a light kiss onto the back of her hand, all the while maintaining eye contact. “I’m Alexander Hamilton. At your service, _mon cher._ ”

Natasha flushed scarlet. “Oh,” she gasped, nearly swooning. 

I smirked and stood up, watching from the corner of my vision as Natasha’s sweet face fell. “Madame, would you mind accompanying me to my room? I don’t know where it is.”

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows in confusion then her eyes widened in understanding. “Why, of course.”

I grabbed my bag and offered her my arm.

The colonies were already much more grand than I could’ve ever hoped.

After a delightful romp and a good night’s sleep, I rented a horse and set off for York City. After a small problem getting into the city, I was allowed entrance.

I jumped off the horse, sending it back with the man who had accompanied me, and I set forth to another tavern.

Despite the fact that I wasn’t very far into York City, I’d already seen more people in a few streets than I’d seen in St. Croix and New Jersey put together.

British soldiers marched up and down the streets, and one could very easily tell who feared them and who liked them.

Some people saluted them as they passed. Others winced away and hurried off. I pushed forward to a local tavern, hurrying inside the lit up tavern, a much welcome reprise from the chill in the air outside.

I approached the man behind the counter. “Excuse me, sir, could you point me in the direction of Hercules Mulligan?” I asked.

Behind me, a chair screeched as it was pulled out. “That would be me,” a voice said. I turned around, being greeted by the sight of a tall man with piercing blue eyes and jovial smile.

I held out my hand and Mulligan took it, shaking my hand, his grasp firm. “I’m Alexander Hamilton. I was directed to find you upon my arrival in York City.”

Mulligan nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I’ve been waiting to hear from you.” He pulled out a chair and gestured to it. “Here, sit.” He sat across from me and poured me a glass of ale from the pitcher.

“Thank you, sir. How can I pay you back?” I asked, but Mulligan waved his hand, looking almost offended.

“Don’t talk such nonsense! You’re my guest, therefore, I shall pay.” I opened my mouth to argue further, but Mulligan sent me a look and I sighed, taking a sip of the ale.

“Thank you,” I muttered, but I didn’t like feeling as if I owed him something. 

I never wanted to rely on anyone ever again.

Mulligan took me to his lodgings above his father’s accounting business, where he worked. “One day, I’ll own my own haberdashery business,” Mulligan told me, looking wistfully out the window.

I nodded. “That will surely make you good money,” I said, following his gaze out at the city street and the distant harbor. 

“I might not not be able to with all these taxes,” Mulligan snarled under his breath, and I nearly startled at the vehemence in his tone, so different from the casual, lighthearted tone of moments before.

“Isn’t parliament simply doing what they think is best?” I asked, puffing up my chest and preparing for a fight.

Mulligan simply huffed out a breath. “You’ll change your stance soon enough,” he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Enough of that. Let’s talk of happier things. How do you like the colonies?”

I thought of the hustle and bustle of York and New Jersey and Natasha’s blonde hair and soft skin. I was being completely honest when I said, “I quite like it here.”

For the next few months, I spent my time at the Mulligan’s in York City. I quickly learned that Mulligan was not alone on his blatant dislike of Britain’s rule.

Mulligan told me of a secret group of people in the colonies and right in York City who opposed Britain’s rule.

“A war is coming,” Mulligan whispered to me late at night. “People won’t stand for this much longer.”

I snorted into my mug of wine. “Britain is the greatest superpower in the world. It’s folly to try to beat them.”

Mulligan shrugged, clearly not believing me. “You’re leaving soon for Elizabethtown, correct?” I nodded and Mulligan continued. “There are many whigs in that city. They’ll teach you something.”

I took a sip of wine. “Perhaps. But I wouldn’t bet on it. If you’ve yet to notice, I’m quite an obstinate man.”

Mulligan didn’t seem to think much of it. “You’ll see, Hamilton.” He ruffled my hair and jerked away, laughing slightly. “You’ll see.”

I left York City a few weeks after our conversation in a boat. It wasn’t very far to Elizabethtown. I’d cross the Hudson River and once I arrived on the shores of New Jersey, I’d rent another gorse, the money kindly offered to me from Mulligan.

I had argued against taking it for weeks when Mulligan grabbed my shoulders as I waited for a boat. “Alexander, take the money. If it kayes you feel any better, you can pay me back.”

It didn’t make me feel any better. I frowned. “I don’t want to owe anyone anything. I came to this city of my intelligence alone. I didn’t rely on anyone then, and I won’t know.”

Mulligan rolled his eyes. “You’re a strange little man, Alexander.” I bristled as he called me small, but I hadn’t met any grown man in the city shorter than I. Mulligan presses the money into my hand. “Take it. I won’t relent.”

I was about to push the money back into his hands when the boat approached the shore. Mulligan looked much too happy. “Take it. You’ll miss your boat if you argue with me.”

I glared and, begrudgingly, I shoved the money into my pocket. “Fine. It was nice meeting you.”

Mulligan still looked smug. “I’ll see you sometime soon, I’m sure. Now go.” I nodded and hurried to the boat, handing the man on the boat the proper amount of money for the trip.

I waved farewell to Mulligan until he was nothing but a distant smudge on the horizon.

“So, what’s waiting for you in Elizabethtown?” The man guiding the boat asked, looking at me with genuine interest.

“University,” I answered. “I’m going to Francis Barber’s Academy.” I thought of towering libraries and marble pillars. Finally, I was a step closer to making a name for myself.

The man whistled low, obviously impressed. “Impressive. My older brother attended there.” I nodded, but I really couldn’t care less about the man’s family and their studies.

We finally reached the docks and I jumped up, grabbing my bag. “Good luck,” the man called as I jumped off the boat onto the muddy riverbank.

“Thank you,” I said, waving farewell and running the instructions to Elizabethtown. I felt excitement building in my stomach.

When I finally got a horse, I set off to Francis Barber’s Academy, riding as fast as I could, snow falling softly on my coat and hat.

Once I arrived, I was directed to my dorm room, where I was placed with a young raven haired boy with a slender frame.

I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers over his slim waist. I shook off the strange thought, placing down my bags and shaking my roommate’s hand.

“Alexander Hamilton,” I greeted, clasping my hands behind my back.

My roommate waved shyly. “William.” His voice was soft and incredibly soothing. “I do hope we can be friends,” he said.

“Of course,” I responded. “But I really have to be going. I’d like to explore the campus and get a good grasp on my surroundings.”

William nodded. “I’ll stay here. Have a nice trip.”

I huffed. “I will. Adieu.” I grabbed my hat and hurried out back into the cold courtyard. As I explored the campus, I wondered what a younger me would think of all this.

The campus was filled with such opportunities. Opportunities I would not miss out on.

The next few weeks were filled to the brim with activities. Between classes, studying, and practicing my posture, I had very little time for much else.

One particularly cold day, a few weeks into my tenure at Elizabethtown, I met William Livingston and Elias Boudinot. I was pacing outside the library, muttering anatomy under my breath and quietly lamenting the cold.

That was the only thing I missed about St. Croix— the heat.

I must’ve looked mad, pacing back and forth, shivering, and quietly talking to myself. I was broken from my thoughts by a clap of hands.

Two men stood in front of me. “Ah, you must be Alexander Hamilton!” The shorter man exclaimed, walking towards me and taking my stiff hands and shaking them.

“Don’t accost the poor boy,” the taller man scolded, but it was obviously in good humor. “I’m William Livingston.”

“Elias Boudinot,” the man still shaking my hands said, before he suddenly let go of my hands, seemingly realizing what he was doing.

“You both seem to know who I am.” I said, clasping my hands behind my back. “I would like to know how, if you don’t mind.”

Livingston nodded. “Of course. We’ve heard of your academic prowess. I would quite like to get to know you better. Please, come to dinner tomorrow night. I trust you know the address?”

I almost laughed out loud. As if I hadn’t heard of the Livingston’s and as if I hadn’t passed their house everyday on my walks.

Instead, I answered, “I know the address.”

“Great. We’ll see you then,” Livingston cheered. Both men waved and walked away, leaving me stunned. 

Once they were out of sight and I was once again alone, I thrust my fist into the air. I was suddenly incredibly grateful that Mulligan had tailored me proper formal clothes and insisted that I take them with me to Elizabethtown.

All thoughts of studying out of my mind, I walked back to my dorm with a spring in my step.

I arrived at the Livingston family’s home the next day, my cravat right around my neck. I straightened my shoulders and knocked twice on the large wooden door.

I waited a few moments before a servant girl in a brown dress opened the door, taking my coat. “The men are in the parlor, sir.”

I nodded, the memory of chained people standing under the sweltering Caribbean sun invading my mind.

I shook the thoughts away, not looking the servant girl in the eyes.

“Thank you, miss,” I answered, standing to my full height and entering the parlor. “Ah, Mr. Hamilton!” Livingston cried, raising his glass. “Come.”

I obeyed, walking over to the settee and taking an offered glass of whiskey and taking a sip, allowing the alcohol’s warmth to spread through my body.

“So, how are your studies?” Mr. Boudinot asked.

“They’re going fine,” I responded, placing one hand behind my back. I caught a glance of myself in the mirror on the wall and I couldn’t help my smirk. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was raised properly.

I had promised myself when I arrived here that I would never be defined by my past again. No one needed to know.

“I’ve learned so much. I’m very grateful for the opportunity,” I elaborated, smiling slightly. Grateful was an understatement.

It was more than I could’ve ever hoped for.

After a considerable time was spent drinking, a servant entered the room to call us to dinner. I followed Livingston and Boudinot, the smell of ham wafting in the air.

As soon as I entered the room, I locked eyes with a beautiful brunette, who smirked upon seeing me. Her thin hand brushed her hair from her face.

I was sat down beside her. “Mr. Hamilton, we’re very pleased to have you here with us,” Mrs. Livingston said from the other end of the table.

I smiled. “I’m very happy to be here, ma’am. The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Mrs. Livingston nodded at me. Beside me, I could feel the brunette’s eyes on me.

“We are very pleased to have you here with us,” she murmured, batting her long eyelashes.

“Thank you,” I replied, just as quiet as her. _She must’ve been a grace, with her beauty,_ I thought, turning back to my meal.

“I see you’ve met my daughter Catherine,” Mr. Livingston informed me as I lifted my wine glass to my lips. 

“But you must call me Kitty,” Kitty interjected. “It’s what all my friends do.”

I must’ve made a face, as Kitty quickly backtracked. “I mean not to make you uncomfortable or to presume upon a friendship.” 

I shook my head. “You are not, Miss.”

Kitty nodded in a self satisfactory manner, turning back to her meat. Despite the delectable food and interesting conversation, for the most part, I could not tear my attention from Kitty. 

As if to keep my attention, every so often, she would fan her bosom all the while maintaining eye contact with me. Despite the innocence of the act, I felt warm all over. I tore my eyes from Kitty and back to the conversation.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Boudinot addressed me. 

“Yes?” I asked, setting down my fork.

“What are your thoughts on taxation?” he asked. I froze, thinking of Mulligan and our late night talks. I had a very distinct feeling that the Livingstons would not be as welcoming to me if I did not agree with them politically.

I was saved from answering by Livingston. “Elias, don’t overwhelm the poor boy. Besides, we’re in feminine company. We needn’t discuss politics.”

Boudinot sighed. “Yes, you’re right,” he acquiesced, raising his hands. “I simply wanted to know.”

“Well, then,” Mrs. Livingston interjected, clearing her throat. “No harm done.”

I nodded and everyone turned back to their food and polite conversation, but I kept thinking over the subject of taxation. Perhaps there was something to this idea of rebellion after all.

“If you would choose to be a goddess, and to be worshipped as such, I will torture my imagination for the best arguments, the nature of the case will admit, to prove you so. You shall be one of the graces, or Diana, or Venus, or something surpassing them all.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Catherine “Kitty” Livingston, 04/11/1777

  
  
As winter bled into spring and spring into summer, I realized that I had formed an acquaintanceship with the Livingstons and Elias Boudinot.

I had also had the good fortune to become closer to Miss Kitty Livingston, who I had learned was quite the coquette. Although nothing improper had occurred between us, she always managed to leave me feeling warm all over and with the urge to push Kitty against the nearest wall and drive her mad.

The summer of seventeen seventy three brought many things to me; a friendship with William Stirling, a place to stay at the Livingston’s, and, most importantly, the arrival of Aaron Burr.

Aaron Burr had come to Elizabethhtown for the summer, I would come to learn. His father had been president of Princeton and his brother-in-law, Tapping Reeve, whom I had briefly met once, sat on Francis Barber’s Academy’s board of visitors.

I had just returned to the Livingston’s house from my brief trip to the library when Mr. Livingston pulled me into his study, where a short young man— even shorter than I— was standing.

“Alexander, this is Aaron Burr,” Livingston introduced us, gesturing from me to Burr. I held out my hand for Burr to take, which he did.

“Alexander Hamilton, at your service,” I greeted.

Burr nodded politely. “Aaron Burr. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes,” I said. “Mr. Burr, I was actually wondering if I could ask you a few questions about how you graduated from Princeton in two years?”

Livingston laughed from behind us. “I do believe you two will get along. I’ll be going then.” He left and I returned my gaze to Burr.

“You simply work hard. And good recommendation notes. Of course, my father was president of Princeton, so they already knew me.” There was something smug about the way Burr spoke, and I decided in that moment that I did not like Aaron Burr.

“Yes, right. Thank you,” I said stiffly. “Now, I really should be going.” Without another word, I left the room.

No, I did not like Aaron Burr. And, although I didn’t know it then, Burr did not like me either. And as the years passed, our mutual distaste for each other would grow.

And it would fester.

In September of that year, I traveled to the College of New Jersey to apply to study there and meet with John Witherspoon, who would conduct my interview.

“Mr. Hamilton, it’s a pleasure,” he greeted from across his desk, his fingers intertwined and his hands neatly placed atop his desk.

I unconsciously sat up straighter. “The real pleasure is mine. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Witherspoon waved his hand dismissively and I retrieved my recommendation letters from my satchel, placing them in Witherspoon’s hands.

As he looked over them, I spoke up. “Sir, I would like to begin an accelerated course of study. I would like, if it’s possible, to graduate as soon as is possible.”

Witherspoon pursed his lips together, handing me back my letters. “You would like to graduate early, sir?”

I nodded. “Yes. I would like to graduate in two years if it’s possible.” _Which I know it is,_ I finished mentally.

Witherspoon hummed. “Yes. Well, this has been an enlightening meeting. We will write you with answers as soon as we can.”

I frowned, snatching up my letters. “ _Thank you,_ sir.” I left the room without saying anything else, anger running through my veins.

Two weeks later, I received a letter rejecting me. But I would not be deterred. With William Stirling backing me, I headed off to York City.

I was accepted at King’s College in York City. My roommate was one Robert Troup, and soon him and I had formed a camaraderie of sorts.

I was also reunited with Ned Stevens, who was attending there as well.

“Alexander!” Ned yelled out once we both left our class. Both of us were studying medicine under Doctor Samuel Clossy. “It’s so nice to see you.” Bed held me at arm’s length.

“It’s nice to see you as well.” I grinned at Ned, but it was very hard to erase my thoughts of my previous life when a member of it was standing before me. 

Despite that, I was still very happy to see Ned once more.

“I never would’ve imagined you a doctor,” Ned joked. I rolled my eyes in good humor.

“While it is grand to see you again, Neddy, I really should be hurrying back to my dorm. I promise, I will see you again soon.” I waved goodbye and hurried off, clutching my books closer to my chest.

Once I arrived back at my dorm, I was greeted by the sight of my roommate and another man beside him.

“Alex!” Troup exclaimed brightly, looking up from his books. Beside him, the man he was with looked up as well.

“Hello, Robert.” I set my books and satchel down on my desk. “And who are you?”

The man with Troup stood up, extending his hand. “Nicholas Fish, at your service.” I shook Nicholas’ hand, peeking behind him to the books spread out on Robert’s bed.

“What are you two reading?”

Robert handed me one of the books. “Homer. We were discussing the themes.” Robert cleared some of the books. “Here, sit.”

I obliged him, sitting down on the bed. Then the idea came to me. “We ought to start a club of some sort,” I offered. “To discuss literature and the like.”

Robert and Nicholas nodded. “Yes,” Nicholas breathed. I smiled.

It was at one of these meetings when we were informed of what had occurred in Boston on the night of December sixteenth, seventeen seventy-three. 

One hundred sixteen men dressed as Indians stormed the docked boats in the Boston Harbors and threw three hundred forty-two chests of tea into the sea.

Ned, who was a member of our little club, spoke up first. “Good lord. Well, I suppose the British should be thankful this is _all_ they did.”

I gasped, the news still running through my brain. Revolution really was coming. During my tenure at King’s College, I had had the chance to see more than one view of this debacle.

“How do you think the British will react?” I asked, more to myself than to the others. 

Nicholas shrugged in response from the chair beside me. “I can’t imagine they’ll be anything less than irate.”

“Very true,” Robert whispered. 

Would war and violence come to our shores? And with war came the chance to prove one’s valor… “How far do you think the colonists will take this insurrection?” I asked. 

Ned looked me right in the eyes as he said, “As far as we must.”

I bit my lip, thinking everything over. Taxes were necessary for a society to function, but the government should only take what is strictly necessary… 

A few days later, I was called into King’s College president, Myles Cooper’s, office. I sat down stiffly on the chair across from Cooper’s desk.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Cooper greeted, smiling brightly at me. “How have your studies been?”

“They’ve been fine,” I replied, but I was distracted by my research. I had been going through records of Britain’s taxation on the colonies, and I was appalled by what I found.

I wondered why I had ever doubted the colonists’ reasoning. Even with that information, I felt foolish nonetheless. I had never been once for radicalism, and that’s what this cause was. Britain was the greatest superpower in the world. To think a ragtag group of untrained soldiers could beat them would be nothing but foolish.

“Good.” Cooper twiddled with his fingers. He obviously wished to ask me something, but I had no idea of what it could be. “You haven’t been… led astray, have you?”

I blinked a few times in shock. “Sir? Led astray from what?”

Cooper exhaled loudly, thrumming his fingers against his desk. “I’ve heard you’ve been spending your time with Mr. Fish, Mr. Stevens, and Mr. Troup. And I’ve heard whispers that those men are loyal to the rebels ‘cause’.” Cooper snorted.

I shook my head, pointedly not thinking of the taxation records in the bottom drawer of my desk. “No, sir. It would be foolish to ally myself with the rebels.”

Cooper visibly relaxed. “Good. I— I knew I was being foolish, I just wished to be certain. You’re a promising young man. I would hate to see you implicated when this whole issue is over.”

I forced out a laugh, suddenly aware of my clammy palms. “No, sir. I would hate that as well. Now, is that all?”

Cooper nodded, waving to me. “Yes. Go on now.” I put my hat on and hurried out of the room, walking back to my room. Cooper was right.

It would be idiotic to ally myself with the rebels. I hadn’t come to the colonies to find my cause and beliefs. I had come to get my education and advance in society, and I’d be damned before I allowed a few extremists to divert me from my goal.

Despite that, something felt distinctly wrong.

On July sixth of seventeen seventy-four, Robert, Nicholas, Ned, and I found ourselves at The Fields, or the grassy Common near King’s College.

Ned had graduated earlier that summer, and this was our farewell to him as he was traveling to Europe to become a doctor at the University of Edinburgh.

We had come to The Fields just in time to hear the beginning of Alexander McDougall’s meeting, at which he castigated the British for closing all the Boston Ports in reaction to the Boston Tea Party.

If anything, Britain closing the ports served only to further aggravate the colonists. 

“We cannot allow them to treat us so!” McDougall cried, loud enough for the rapidly growing crowd to hear. “We deserve rights. We have gone the peaceful route, yet they don’t remedy their ways. It is time for violence!”

People in the crowd cheered loudly. Some even thrusted their fists into the air. McDougall cheered with them. “Yes, get angry! We have been complacent in regards to Britain for too long. Now is time for action!” More people cheered. “Does anyone have anything to say?”

Everyone was silent. I suddenly stepped up onto the crate someone had set out by McDougall. “I have something I’d like to say,” I called.

“By all means, go on,” McDougall said, stepping aside. 

I cleared my throat. “You are correct. The Boston Tea Party was the best course of action. No one was hurt, and it sent a message. It informed Britain that we will not be silent in regards to Britain’s blatant mistreatment of us.”

People cheered loudly, and it surged me forward. “The closing of Boston’s harbor was a gross example of abusing power. How will Boston citizens get their food and the like? We must stand together and present a unified front.”

I took a deep breath. “In standing together, we will prove the salvation of North America and her liberties. Otherwise, fraud, power, and the most odious oppression will rise triumphant over right, justice, social happiness and freedom.”

For a long moment after I finished speaking, there was utter silence in the crowd. Then the applause began. All around me people whispered. “It is a collegian!” People cried, pointing at me as I made my way back to Ned, Nicholas, and Robert.

Once I reached them, I was quickly slapped on the back. “And you said you’d never change your stance,” someone said from behind me.

I spun on my heel so fast my head spun for a moment. Hercules Mulligan was standing before me, grinning. 

“It is good to see you again,” I greeted, allowing Mulligan a short embrace. I quickly pulled away, my eyes drifting to Milligan’s left hand. On his ring finger was a slim gold band.

“You’re married?” I exclaimed. 

Mulligan rubber the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yes. Last year I married Elizabeth Sanders. I also opened my haberdashery shop. It’s located on Pearl Street. You will have to come to visit.”

I nodded. Suddenly, Nicholas threw an arm around my shoulders. “So, Alexander, I thought you weren’t one for our cause?”

I shrugged. I had come to America to rise up, but I couldn’t blatantly support what I thought to be wrong. Besides, I was a bastard orphan from a small island in the Caribbean, and now I was in York City attending one of the colonies’ greatest schools.

If I could come so far, perhaps it wasn’t impossible that the colonies could beat Britain in battle, if it came to war.

I turned back to address Nicholas. “I came to realize that I’ve always been one to bet on seemingly wild odds.”

Once I adopted the Patriot cause, I found myself reading the papers more often, searching for news on everything. It seemed I had come around to the Patriot cause at just the right time.

The word on the streets was that war was coming, and soon.

That fall, as I was reading the papers, Robert stormed into our shared room, slamming down a pamphlet on my desk. “Have you read this madness?”

I raised an eyebrow, setting aside my paper and opening the pamphlet. 

The title read, _Free Thoughts, on the proceedings of the Continental Congress, held at Philadelphia Sept. 5, 1774: Wherin Their Errors are exhibited, Their Reasonings Confuted, And The fatal Tendency of their Non-Importation, Non-Exportation, and Non-Consumtion Measures, are open to the plainest understandings; And The Only Means pointed out for Preserving and Securing Our present Happy Constitution: in a Letter to The Farmers, and other Inhabitants of North America In General and to those of the Province of New-York In Particular_.

I read the pamphlet, anger growing inside me as I read on. The worst part, in my opinion, was that it wasn’t even well written, combined with the loyalist idiocy the man was spewing.

It was anonymous, signed as “A.W. Farmer.”

I glanced up at Robert, who was pacing. I glanced at the room, my eyes landing on my quill and ink pot.

“I do believe I know what to do,” I said, standing up and cracking my knuckles. Yes, I did know what to do.

I’d respond.

I responded a month later with my own pamphlet entitled, _A Full Vindication of the Measures of the Congress, from the Calumnies of their Enemies; In Answer to A Letter, Under the Signature of A. W.Farmer. Whereby His Sophistry is exposed, his Cavils confuted, his Artifices detected, and his Wit ridiculed; in a General Address To the Inhabitants of America, And A Particular Address To the Farmers of the Province of NewYork_.

After I published _A Full Vindication,_ in January of the next year, A.W. Farmer responded with another pamphlet.

As I planned out a response, I could scarcely walk anywhere without seeing someone reading one of our pamphlets. Most people lauded my pamphlet. Some lauded A.W. Farmer, but I ignored them, as their views leaned more toward Loyalism rather than Patriotism.

I finally responded in February with a pamphlet entitled, _The Farmer Refuted: or A more impartial and comprehensive View of the Dispute between Great-Britain and the Colonies, Intended as a Further Vindication of the Congress: In Answer to a Letter From A. W. Fanner, Intitled A View of the Controversy Between Great-Britain and her Colonies: Including a Mode of determining the present Disputes Finally and Effectuall._

A.W. Farmer never responded, I thought with satisfaction.

“I congratulate myself upon the sentiments, you entertain of my last performance. Such is my opinion of your abilities as a critic, that I very much prefer your disapprobation to your applause. But, with respect to the brilliancy of thought you speak of, give me leave to inform you, that I aimed at nothing more, than justness of thought.”

Excerpt from Alexander Hamilton’s public essay, ‘A Farmer Refuted’ , written in response to loyalist bishop Samuel Seabury, 02/23/1775

In April of that year, news reached York City of the battles of Lexington and Concord on the nineteenth. The Americans had successfully pushed the British forces back into Boston.

It was now clear: war had come. There was no avoiding it. 

Once I read of it, I immediately thought of proving myself. Of making a name for myself. What better way to do so than by showing my courage and valor?

So I dropped out of King’s College with no regrets. After all, there was more honor to be had in fighting for one’s beliefs than writing about it.

I had grown up without honor.

I would _never_ allow myself to be without honor again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter should be up in one to three days. I just wanted to say thank you for the kudos and the feedback, I really appreciate it! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 10, 1775-September 20, 1776

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_May 10, 1775, York City, New York_

It was late at night when the commotion began. I was pouring over military books, committing the information to memory so I could practice come morning, when I first heard the chanting.

“What’s that?” Robert asked, rubbing his eyes blearily. A little ways away, I could hear the sound of shattering glass, followed by a loud thump.

I closed my book and stood up. “I’ll be but a moment,” I said to Troup, who looked horrified at the prospect of being alone in the room.

I hurried out of the room, shutting it behind me. I peeked out down the corridor, where President Myles Cooper was standing, being informed of something by a young man. Cooper’s eyes were almost comically wide and his face was as white as his nightdress.

I walked up to them. “Sir, what is the commotion all about?”

Cooper glared at me. I had the urge to snap at him. Ever since I had spoken out at The Fields, Cooper had deigned to hate me.

As much as it bothered me when he acted openly hostile, I ignored him. 

“There’s a mob outside,” the young man said.

I rolled my eyes. “We’ve established that. What are they _here for?_ ” I tapped my foot impatiently. The chanting was becoming louder.

“They want Mr. Cooper. Their motives are to tar and feather him, because he’s loyal to the King.” The man’s lip curled as he spoke.

“As should you be!” Cooper snapped, but he kept glancing at the windows. 

“This young man’s political views seem rather irrelevant at this moment, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Cooper?” I asked.

The sound of shattering glass prevented Cooper from responding to me. Cooper let out a yelp, stepping back.

“You really should be going, sir,” the young man pointed out. I nodded in agreement. Whatever my feelings about Cooper may have been, I wouldn’t have liked to see him tarred, feathered, and strung up.

“They’ll catch me running!” Cooper bellowed. “We need a diversion.”

“I’ll distract them,” I suddenly said, surprising even myself. 

The young man’s jaw dropped. “Sir—” he began, but I held out a hand.

“Go, Mr. Cooper,” I instructed, gesturing out the door. Cooper nodded. He paused and I wondered if he’d thank me. Instead, he shook his head and ran off.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to the young man, rushing to my dorm room, where Troup was peeking nervously out the window.

“Robert, I’m going to divert the crowd. Lock our door,” I instructed, grabbing my coat. Troup’s eyes were wide when I turned to look at him again.

“What?” he practically screeched, but I simply patted his arm and ducked out of the room, hurrying down the stairs to the front.

They had already knocked down the gate and were surging towards the main building. I rushed onto the stairs. The mob turned to face me. 

“Please, people, who must remain calm!” I yelled, struggling to be heard over the loud roar of the crowd. “We are civilized people. Please, remain calm! We cannot allow ourselves to fall into anarchy.”

Someone pushed towards the front. “Give us Cooper!” People in the mob cheered, repeating the phrase. “You aren’t who we want!”

I held out my hands and stepped back as the mob pushed forward slightly. “Please, people, who needn’t agree with Cooper, but you mustn’t resort to violence! It is unbecoming of you!”

“He’s loyalist scum!” someone in the crowd shouted.

“Please, remain calm!” I shouted, my voice hoarse. But all my yelling was in vain as the crowd surged forward and I ducked out of the way, landing hard on the damp grass.

I only hoped that Cooper had ran far enough to evade the mob.

I soon learned that Cooper _had_ made it far enough and successfully avoided running into the angry, blood thirsty mob.

I learned that Cooper had spent the night wandering the Hudson River’s bank. The next day he boarded a ship to England.

I thought very little of Loyalists after that. I immersed myself in writing, which was what I did best. I wrote my views on the Quebec Bill, a bill that had been passed the previous year that extended Quebec’s boundaries to the Ohio River and gave French Canadians full religious freedom.

Other than that, York City was never devoid of entertainment. A few days before I saved Myles Cooper, the New York Congress had arrived to begin it’s session.

They quickly sent out members for the first ever Continental Congress. Everyone was talking about it. Besides politics, with Mulligan’s help, after I left college I had become part of a military group called the Corsicans.

Although there wasn’t much for us to fight for yet, we still trained vigorously. I found myself constantly pouring over military training books. When I wasn’t writing, with the Corsicans, or reading, I was applying the military techniques I learned in my own time.

It was at one Corsicans meeting that we were informed that our captain had been promoted. And I was very happy that I had spent so much time practicing military techniques, as I was prompted to the head of the Corsicans, which we unanimously agreed to rename.

Under my command, we were now The Heart of Oak. 

It was while we were training that Mulligan informed me that General George Washington— who had been appointed head of our army on the fourteenth— and his aides would be coming down Wall Street and inspecting my militia.

So on June twenty-fifth I instructed my company to stand tall, to polish their boots and muskets so they’re reflection could be seen.

“Attention, men,” I yelled when I saw Washington approaching, two aides with him and a purple sash strung across his broad chest.

I clasped my hands behind my back, standing to my full height. 

George Washington portrayed an imposing figure. I must’ve been at least five inches shorter than him, but I did not allow myself to become intimidated by the man.

“Alexander Hamilton, sir,” I greeted, bowing my head. 

“This is your company?” Washington asked, looking at my group of men, all standing tall and looking ahead.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, pride seeping into my tone. 

Washington nodded in what I believed to be approval, but it was hard to tell when his face was completely devoid of any emotion.

“How old are you, Mr. Hamilton?” Washington asked.

I puffed up my chest. “I’m eighteen, sir. Is that an issue?” I asked and I couldn’t help the bite in my tone. As if age had anything to do with whether one was talented or not.

Something akin to a smile passed over Washington’s face. “Impressive,” was all Washington said before he walked on.

“You have quite the cheek, Alex,” Mulligan said that evening over ale when I told him of what had happened.

I rolled my eyes. “I won’t be looked down upon because of my age. I worked hard to be where I am.”

Mulligan raised his hands in the air in surrender. “I know, Alex. You need not justify yourself to me. I was only commenting on the way you spoke to the _head_ of our army.” Mulligan nudged me.

I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly, taking a long drink of my ale. 

I had meant what I said. I had worked hard to be where I was now. 

And I still had so much more to do.

It was wildly uncomfortable to crouch for as long as I had been, but I remained down, training my eyes on the distant British war ship, the _Asia._

Congress had worried that the _Asia_ would take the canons that were located at the tip of the Battery would be seized. I had quickly signed my company up to carry the cannons off to safety 

We were joined by another company, led by John Lamb. We were going onto the ship and seize back what was rightfully ours.

There was a rustle of leaves behind me and I swirled around, adrenaline running through my veins. Luckily, it was only Mulligan.

“It should be clear to go on ahead,” Mulligan murmured into my ear. I nodded, making eye contact with Lamb.

I gestured to the _Asia._ Lamb’s company hesitantly stood and I directed my company to do the same. 

“Stand, men,” I ordered as quietly as possible. Despite the fact that we would be entering a possible battle, I felt inexplicably excited.

I had longed to fight for some time now and it was finally happening. I made sure my musket was loaded before I addressed my men.

“We will be quick and we will be quiet. Understand? We get the cannons and go. Do _not,_ I repeat, do _not_ attempt to scavenge anything else. Am I understood?”

The men nodded. “Good,” I said. “Then let’s go.”

We began to march onto the ship, keeping quiet. I grabbed the ropes, and the men began to pull the cannons back. I pulled with them, pushing my back, sweat dripping down my face as I did.

As we ran up to the _Asia_ I began to think that perhaps we could actually succeed in our goal without engaging in open battle.

I should not have thought so.

Suddenly there a loud crack. The unmistakable crack of a musket being fired. I turned to the _Asia._ Redcoats were firing and reloading muskets.

“Fuck!” I yelled, ducking to avoid a bullet. I could still hear it whizzing past my ear. 

I turned to Mulligan. “I thought you said it was safe?” I cried as bullets whizzed by.

Mulligan glared at me. “Someone must have informed them of our plans,” he shouted, grabbing my arm and pulling me down.

There was suddenly a loud bang and screams echoed from the city. I jumped up and turned. A cannon had blasted through the roof of the nearby Fraunces Tavern.

People ran out of the tavern, screaming and shouting. One women even fell to the floor. It was foolish to think this wouldn’t turn into a battle. 

Loyalist bastards.

I grabbed my gun from where it had fell, firing on a redcoat. I watched as the man slumped onto the grass, the red of his blood indistinguishable from the red of his coat.

I looked around at the boat. I had come here to rescue cannons, and _goddamnit,_ that’s what I was going to do. 

I reloaded my musket and handed it to Mulligan. “I’m going to retrieve one final canon. Watch my musket. Thank you.” 

I ran off, Mulligan’s cries of my name blending into the cacophony of screams and shouts all around me until I couldn’t discern what anyone was shouting anymore.

I grabbed the ropes, pulling as hard as I could. With no one else to help me, it was infinitely harder than it had been before.

There was another bang of cannon fire and more screams of the distressed. War really was here. I pulled harder on the ropes, the ropes digging into my haves.

 _I can worry about that later,_ I thought. As long as my blood didn’t make the ropes slick, I could endure the pain as long as I succeeded.

I pulled harder and harder, grunting and such until finally I had the cannon on the grass. Two of my men grabbed the ropes at my instruction and began to pull them back to safety.

I ran up to Mulligan, who enveloped me in a hug upon seeing me. “Hello,” I said, stepping back from the hug. “Where’s my musket?”

Mulligan’s eyes widened and he groaned. “I’m sorry, Alex, but I left it on the boat.”

If I didn’t like Mulligan as much as I did, I felt I would’ve punched him and berated him for stupidity.

“It’s fine.” I rubbed my temples. “I’ll go back for it.” Mulligan moved to grab my arm, but I began running, my feet slamming into the ground harshly. I ran back onto the ship. 

All around me I could hear battle as I searched for my musket.

A crack of a musket. A boom of cannon. A thump as someone or something falling after being hit. A scream of the frightened. 

I suddenly remembered the screams of the hurricanes victims and I pushed onward, willing the thoughts to go away.

Now was _not_ the time to reminisce.

I finally located my musket and hurried off of the ship and back to the Commons where we were to meet up again.

“Alex, you absolute idiot!” Mulligan yelled at me, running up to me. “What were you thinking?”

I smiled cheekily. “I was thinking about having my musket back.”

Mulligan let out a chortle. “You lucky man. The ship is just pulling out.”

I looked where Mulligan was pointing. The ship was retreating. I breathed out a sigh of relief. And, as a result, I quickly felt the pain in my hands.

I turned my haves over. Luckily, it was only a few small cuts. I breathed out deeply. 

The people in the streets had slowly begun to cease their screaming. I ran a hand through my hate, new soaked with sweat.

Battle wasn’t exactly what I had been expecting. It was terrifying, yes, but it was also _exhilarating._

A few weeks later, I received two offers from two different men to be an aide-de-camp. One offer from William Stirling, who remembered be from Elizabethhtown.

He offered me a position as brigade major, as well as being an aide-de-camp.

Nathaniel Greene also offered me a position as aide-de-camp to him. 

I declined both offers.

I had felt what battle was like, and I was in no rush to give that up. I had decided to fight in this war to rise up in station and prove my valor.

I couldn’t exactly do that if I was chained to a desk for the duration of the war. 

“You can still rise in the ranks as an aide,” Mulligan said when I told him, running his fingers over notes he’d made on a client’s measurements.

I shook my head. “I can rise faster by proving my valor. I survived that battle and I’m leaving my own group of men. Why should I give that up to write letters?”

Mulligan snorted. “You’ve already told me your reasoning before.” Mulligan looked up from his notes and walked over to me, slinging his arm around my shoulders. “I will support you in your decisions, my friend.”

I nodded.

“But I still have the right to stare my opinions on your actions,” Mulligan finished. “So, in this case, I think you’re letting your pride cloud your better judgement.”

I ducked out of Mulligan’s half embrace, grabbing my coat. “I should be going.” I walked out of the shop without allowing Mulligan to speak.

I was not allowing my pride to cloud better judgement. I was being practical. Battle was what made average men into great ones, not sitting at a desk writing letters for the great msn.

I knew what I was aiming for. I’d made up my mind.

Bravery in battle would be what would make my name known.

I was proven right. 

On March fourteenth, seventeen seventy-six, the New York Provincial Congress appointed me to Captain of the Provincial Company of Artillery in New York.

I quickly marched to Mulligan’s, the last of my St. Croix Scholarship money weighing heavily in my pocket. 

It seemed fitting to me that I spend the rest of my money from my past life to pay for proper clothes for my new life. 

I was no longer some random student. I was a person with _rank._

Once I walked into Mulligan’s haberdashery shop on Pearl Street, Mulligan instantly was before me, smiling widely.

“I heard of your promotion, Alex!” Mulligan said loudly, patting my shoulders. “Congratulations.”

I knew I was grinning as Mulligan laughed. But I didn’t care. I had finally moved up somewhat. I handed Mulligan the money in my pocket.

“Here. I would like to ask you to make me a suit.” Mulligan nodded, walking over to his notebook, turning to look at me.

“So, do you think the men we recruited will be enough?”

Before I had been officially appointed, Mulligan, Robert Troup, and I had begun recruiting for a new company.

I nodded my head. “Yes. We have recruited fifty. I only needed thirty,” I answered with pride.

Mulligan whistled lowly. “Nice.”

 _Yes, nice indeed,_ I thought.

On the twentieth of April, I was ordered to relieve Brigadier General Alexander McDougall’s First New York Regiment in guarding the colonies’ records as they were shipped from City Hall to an abandoned house in Greenwich Village.

I was walking along the bank as my men dug the fort. “Do you think it will be enough?” I asked Mulligan, hating the nervous wobble in my voice. To be a captain, I couldn’t show fear.

In some ways, I wasn’t. If I died, I’d die honorably in battle. And wasn’t that the way all men wanted to go— honorably?

In other ways, I was terrified. While I had been waiting for death since I was a child, I wasn’t _ready_ to go now, regardless of whatever manner it may occur.

“Alexander, I trust your command. It will be alright,” Mulligan assured me, placing a hand on my shoulder. 

I looked out at my men, toiling away. On the brighter side of things, I had now recruited ninety three men for my regiment, which gave me more hands to work with, and so the fort could be completed faster.

I cranked my head to obtain a better few of my men toiling away. “Faster, men!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth so I could be heard better.

To my left, a group of men hauled to the edge of the fort eight nine pounders and court three pounders. I nodded in approval, beginning to pace back and forth, willing my nerves to calm.

“Alexander, perhaps you should take a break,” Mulligan advised, setting his hand on my shoulder, stopping my pacing. 

I shook my head without even thinking about it at all. “It wouldn’t be prudent to take a break when my men are still working.”

Mulligan sighed loudly. I ignored him. 

On July Fourth, seventeen seventy six, the Declaration of Independence was signed, officially declaring America an independent nation.

It wasn’t all good news, unfortunately. On that day, four hundred and eighty war ships began to approach New York’s Harbor towards Staten Island. But it seemed many patriots didn’t care, as people still celebrated.

And I was not exempt. On that day, Mulligan, Robert, Nicholas, and I went to a nearby pub, named the Fighting Cocks, to drink and to toast to America’s newly declared freedom.

It seemed we weren’t the only ones, as so many patriots came in so frequently that the Loyalist pub owner could not evict us all, lest he be left with an empty bar.

“To freedom!” A man at the table next to me cried, thrusting his mug into the air.

I raised my glass as well, pleasantly tipsy and feeling flushed. At the other corner of the pub, a young woman made eye contact with me.

I stood up and walked over to the women, taking the pitch of ale with me, much to my group’s abundant protests.

“Hello, sir,” the woman said, placing a hand on my thigh as soon as I sat down beside me.

“Good evening, _ma douce,_ ” I said, gently taking the woman’s hand and placing a kiss on it.

We spent the rest of the evening carefully flirting, just on the edge of propriety. Once I learned her name— Mary— she took me back to her room, instantly kneeling between my legs, her skilled mouth making me lose my sense.

Once we had finished, I walked home, not quite drunk but happy nonetheless, the words Mary had said to me right before I left ringing in my ears.

_If you ever need anything, I’m happy to help. Nothing is off the table, captain. I’d like to see the British suffer._

Perhaps I simply _was_ drunk and had misunderstood her.

It wasn’t until I’d almost reached home did I wish I had someone who _cared_ for me, rather than simply pleasing me and vice versa.

I physically shook my head. This was safer. As long as I didn’t become attached, then I was safe. It wasn’t emotionally fulfilling, but it would save me from hurt.

But that didn’t make me any less lonely.

Two days after the Declaration of Independence was signed, I hauled my company to the Commons, where the Declaration would be read aloud for all to hear from the balcony of City Hall.

As we waited for them to begin speaking, I thought of how but a few years ago, I would’ve thought this treason and idiocy.

Of course, it was _technically_ treason, but I preferred _revolution._

I also knew that nearby, Mulligan, the Sons of Liberty, and several soldiers were planning to pull down an equestrian statue of King George the Third. 

I wondered when I’d hear either scandalized whispers or joyous cheers of the event.

Suddenly, someone stepped out onto the City Hall balcony and my men, others, and I all stood to attention, watching as a man unrolled a piece of paper.

He cleared his throat. “When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them…”

I listened in awe, hanging onto every word. I could only hope to write something as elegant and monumentous.

 _One day,_ I reminded myself. _One day…_

But glory came first.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.— That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”

Excerpt of _The Declaration of Independence_ , written by Thomas Jefferson and edited by others, signed 07/04/1776

We were crouched at our fort, named Bunker Hill. 

The nearby British ships, the _Phoenix_ and the _Rose_ , were sailing down the Hudson River to check American’s fortifications.

My men had the canons loaded and their guns aimed at the ship. Nearby, another company was positioned in the same way we were.

Tension made its way into my back, making me stiff and anxious. I rolled my shoulders and ignored the cowardly thoughts telling me to run.

I was no coward.

I was watching the ships carefully when one of the men I had sent ahead to check the other groups ran up to me, panting. 

I stood up quickly.

“Sir, in Tarrytown, our troops abandoned their posts to watch,” the man reported. I made a face, rubbing my temples.

Barely a year and this army was falling apart.

“Thank you,” I mumbled to the man, turning back to watch the _Phoenix_ and the _Rose._

The worst part was that there was nothing we could do except _wait._ We had to wait until the ships were in range of Bunker Hill to fire. We had to wait for the right moment. We’d have to wait to see if they’d fire back.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

The company near us were fumbling with their guns, training the guns on the ships. “Idiots,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes.

“Ready… aim… fire!” the company leader shouted. As soon as he did, there was a loud band and my men ducked as smoke and degree clouded the air.

“What’s happened?” I called out, silently lamenting my small stature and standing up on the tips of my toes to see better.

“Their guns blew up!” one of my men responded, punctuating his sentence with a loud laugh at the end.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the ships, only to notice that they were in range of Bunker Hill. “Fire!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, watching my hen scramble to aim their guns.

A loud ring of muskets firing followed a few seconds later.

“Fire!” I repeated, and the men fired again. Suddenly, as soon as my men had fired, there was another round of billets, coming from the opposite direction.

Men ducked and threw themselves to the ground to avoid being hit by the bullets. I grabbed my own musket, firing at the distant shape of a man on board of one of the ships with a musket.

The shot did not hit him, but the man ducked, his musket going flying into the Hudson River.

 _Good,_ I thought triumphantly, readjusting my focus to my men, who were loading the cannon.

“Careful,” I yelled, grabbing my musket and beginning to reload, my hands shaking as I tried to load faster.

My hands finally ceased their trembling as I finally finished pouring the powder into the pan of the musket, placing my finger lightly on the trigger.

“Fire!” My men and I shot at the boats. Suddenly, before I could comprehend anything at all, the cannon nearby let out a loud bang, busting in a brilliant cacophony of smoke and fire. 

I threw myself into the floor, my ears ringing from the force of the blast. I clutched my head. Once the smoke cleared, I stood up, only slightly unsteady on my feet.

I walked over to where the cannon had sat, stepping back in horror. One of my men lay beside the cannon, his face marred beyond any type of recognition.

“It’s John,” another man said, propping the deceased man up. I swallowed the bile building in my throat.

“Does he have any family?” I asked, my head spinning.

A nod. “A mother and a sister.”

“I’ll write to them at once,” I responded, hurrying into the bushes and pushing out all of the disgust, heat, and fear. Everything was alright.

Everything was going to be fine. I’d call my men back, I’d go home, I’d write the letter to John’s sister and mother, and I’d crawl into bed and sleep.

I breathed in heavily and turned back to Bunker Hill.

On August twenty seventh, our American forces faced a crushing defeat during the Battle of Long Island.

I had preached to my comrades for a tactical retreat, but Washington seemed to have other plans, engaging in open battle against the British.

Despite being hopelessly outnumbered, our forces still managed to retreat across the East River late at night.

Even worse, for me anyway, was the capture of Hercules Mulligan. I had no time to grieve, unfortunately, as there was still a war, and we needed to be prepared for battle.

And battle would come, not first, there was a moment of silence. To me, it was vaguely reminiscent of the eerie silence once the hurricane that destroyed my island ceased.

On September the tenth, New York was officially lost to the British; Washington and the army hidden in the scraggly area that was Harlem Heights.

But the silence wouldn’t last for long. While my company was camped on the East River, two miles north of us, the British attacked Kip’s Bay, leaving us officially cut off from the rest of the army and stranded.

One of my men ran up to me, relaying what I already knew to be true: we were all alone. “Sir, what can we do?” the man asked, looking around anxiously as if a British soldier was going to come and grab him from the trees.

I stood up, brushing the dirt from my knees. “We stand tall and fight,” I responded. It was all we could do.

I had already decided long ago that I would never go down without a fight. And I was not about to abandon that strategy now.

I walked along the rows where my men were lying in wait, their uniforms caked with mud and dirt. “Stand, men! We must fight!” I yelled. My men obeyed, beginning to load muskets and cannons. I nodded in approval.

As much as I hated it, this was all we could do. We couldn’t charge into open battle with the British, that would be suicide.

No, the most we could do was stand tall and prepare on the off chance Battle came to us. And I hoped Battle came.

We waited for what felt like hours, fingers trained on triggers and crouching in the mud and dirt that made up the hill by the East River.

Suddenly, there was a sound of crunching leaves behind me. I swirled around, aiming my musket at the men. Luckily, it was only Aaron Burr and another man in a General’s uniform beside him.

“Mr. Burr,” I said, setting my musket down and walking up to Burr, shaking his hand. “Have you come to aid us?”

Burr shook his head. “I’m afraid not. General Putnam and I were sent to rescue you and take you back to the main army.”

I frowned, turning to look at my men, all poised and ready for battle. “Sir, I do believe we’ll be alright on our own.”

Burr sighed loudly, rubbing his temples with his middle and index finger. “Captain, we’re under General Washington’s authority.”

General Putnam interjected. “It would be in your best interest to come with us.”

 _General Washington?_ I thought, turning to look North where the army was likely stationed. “General Washington…” I mumbled.

“Please, Captain,” Burr interrupted my thoughts, his voice taught with impatience. “You ought to hurry.”

I huffed. “Fine. But we take two of the canons.”

Burr relaxed slightly, his shoulders slumping fit but a moment before he was standing tall once more. “Of course.”

Putnam stepped before me, yelling out to my men, who instantly became wide eyes. I rolled my eyes in annoyance. These were _my_ men.

I whistled, gesturing to the cannon. Four men scampered up to haul in away. I nodded in satisfaction, turning back to Burr.

“Where will you be taking us?” I asked.

“We will take you to the west side of the island to a few freshly dug entrenchments, located in Harlem Heights.”

I hummed, grabbing my hat and placing it upon my head, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. “Let’s go, men!” I yelled, and the men began to march.

We walked quietly with Putnam at the head, Burr and I behind him, and my company behind Burr and I.

As we were walking, Burr sighed, looking out at where the city would be if one turned and kept walking. 

“It’s a shame our city has fallen into British hands,” Burr mumbled, so quiet I had to strain my ears to hear him. “Perhaps General Greene was right— we should burn down the neighborhoods within the city.”

I froze. Burn down the city? Suddenly, I thought of Mary from all those months ago, who had called me captain and told me she’d do _anything_ and had expressed that she wanted to see the British suffer.

“Major Burr,” I began, a smile creeping onto my face, “I do believe I have a way to make that happen.”

Once we arrived at the entrenchments, with Putnam’s permission, Burr I hurried back into the city, shedding our coats.

I led Burr to the tavern where I’d met Mary, named the Fighting Cocks. The lights were still on inside, and I hoped that Mary hadn’t yet fled the city.

I walked up to the bar, Burr beside me, jumping at every noise and creak. I rolled my eyes. “Excuse me, sir, do you know if a woman named Mary is here? I believe last I was here she had a room?”

The bartender frowned. “She’s at the back table. I only ask that the two of you keep quiet once you meet her. There are others who have rooms who wish to sleep.”

Burr flushed from beside me and I dragged him towards the back table where Mary was sutting. Her gaze drifted up towards us. “Ah, Captain. What do I owe the pleasure of a visit?”

I sat down at the table. “Do you think we could talk outside?” I leaned closer to her, thankful that the table beside her was unvacated.

Mary smiled and nodded, standing up and fixing her dress. I walked out the door, Burr right at my side and Mary behind me.

“What is it?” Mary asked, once I led her to the entrance to an alley beside the tavern.

“You told me once you wanted to see the British suffer. The Major and I have a proposition for you.” I reached into my pocket and produced a few pounds, all I had left on my person.

Burr also produced a few pounds, placing them in the palm of my hand. “Miss, we’d like you to start a fire. Distract the British,” Burr said. “It doesn’t have to be tonight, but I’d prefer it to be sooner rather than later.”

Mary’s teeth were visible, she grinned so widely. “Yes.”

On September twentieth, a fire broke out in Manhattan from a farmhouse along the waterfront near Whitehall Slip.

Four hundred and ninety three houses, equating to a quarter of the city, was burned down.

“In speaking of New York, I had forgot to mention that Providence—or some good honest Fellow, has done more for us than we were disposed to do for ourselves, as near One fourth of the City is supposed to be consumed.”

Excerpt of a letter from George Washington to Lund Washington, referencing the Great Fire of New York, 10/06/1776

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter should be up in a few days. Anyways, a few notes:  
> 1\. Yes, there was a tavern called the Fighting Cocks. No, I don’t know if it was ran by a Loyalist, that was a creative decision.  
> 2\. Mary is fictional, as we don’t know exactly HOW the Manhattan fire started, but I found a way to include Hamilton and I took it.  
> 3\. Yes, Jefferson wrote the Declaration, but others edited it. Watch me take every chance I get to discredit Thomas Jefferson. (I don’t like him all that much.)  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, thank you for all of the kudos and feedback, and I hope you have a nice day.
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September 23, 1776-August 7, 1777

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> Note: there are is French and a German in this chapter. Translations below in the order they were said.
> 
> German:  
> Charge!  
> Shit!
> 
> French:  
> Ah, you must be Colonel Hamilton! Our general has spoken about you!  
> I am. It's a pleasure to meet you, Marquis  
> Nonsense, Colonel. You have to call me Gilbert, if we want to be friends!  
> I'll convince you, Colonel.  
> But I shall learn!  
> My excuses! I had no intention of ... ah ...  
> It’s alright.  
> Non, it is not alright!  
> It's so great to be here with you! I think we'll be great friends. You are-  
> What the fuck does nobody understand about this?  
> You were seriously hurt  
> I have been told that I am quite stubborn. We will be friends, I swear.

_Harlem, New York, September 23, 1776_

After the fire had been lit by Mary, Major Burr and General Putnam had taken my company and I to Harlem, where the main army was stationed for the time being.

My company and I set up our camp a little ways away from the main army. Far enough that we were separate, but close enough if Washington ever needed anything.

And so we waited. There wasn’t much to do in the craggy area outside the house the army was stationed. It had been a few days of nothing to do but wait when something _finally_ occurred.

I was pacing back and forth, muttering action plans to myself, when a young man entered my haphazardly made tent, a green sash across his chest, indicating that he was an aide-de-camp.

I stopped my pacing. “Good day, Captain Hamilton,” the man said, nodding his head respectfully. “I am Lieutenant Colonel Robert Harrison. His Excellency, General George Washington, would like to speak with you.”

I frowned. “What does His Excellency require from me?” I asked, placing a hand on my hip.

Harrison smiled only slightly. “Only to speak with you, Captain.”

I nodded and grabbed my hat. “Then, please, lead the way.” Harrison nodded, looking marginally more comfortable.

“Of course,” he said softly, walking forward.

We walked stiffly to the house. Neither of us spoke. The whole walk, my head spun with ideas. Had Washington found out of my involvement in the fire of New York? Was he angry?

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. I was Alexander Hamilton, and I wouldn’t allow _anyone_ to make me cower.

We finally arrived at The General’s room in the house. Harrison nodded at the two men positioned outside the door and we hurried in.

Harrison bowed his head. “Your Excellency. Captain Hamilton.” Harrison gestured to me.

I bowed my head. “Your Excellency. It’s a pleasure to meet you once again.”

Harrison furrowed his eyebrows, looking between us. The General’s lips upturned slightly. “The Captain and I have met before. You’re excused, Colonel.”

Harrison nodded and hurried out with a final glance in my direction.

I turned back to The General. “Sir, may I ask why you’ve summoned me here?”

Washington nodded, standing up. “Yes. Major Burr has informed of your involvement in the recent fire in New York.”

I froze. Washington quickly began speaking again. “You needn’t be nervous. I’ve come to thank you.” Washington’s lip curled. “You’ve done more for us than we were disposed to do for ourselves.”

I shook my head. “I do wish I could take the credit, I do, but I cannot. A young maiden named Mary started the fire at my request.”

Washington hummed contemplatively. “Well, nonetheless, I congratulate you for the part you have played in the whole affair. As for your other accomplishments. I do have a request for you.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I would like you to meet with Captain John Montresor of the British army in the park of artillery in my stead tomorrow. To report on the hanging of Nathan Hale…” Washington frowned.

I drummed my fingers against my leg, excitement building in me. “I would be honored, Your Excellency.”

Washington seemed pleased. “You are certainly a talented young man. I hope to see more of you. You’re excused.”

I bowed my head, hurrying out of the room, barely maintaining my dignified stance as I walked down the stairs.

We agreed to meet under the flag of truce. I stood in the park, two Continental soldiers near me, watching as the man I was to meet with and his men marched up to me, a white flag waving in the cool breeze.

One of the men nearby spoke up. “Captain John Montresor of His Majesty’s Army.” Montresor smiled tightly.

The man speaking cleared his throat. “Captain Alexander Hamilton of the Continental Army.” I nodded my head slightly.

Montresor waved the announcer away and stepped up to me, clearing his throat. “We are here to discuss the hanging of Nathan Hale for espionage.” To me, there was something almost mocking in the way he spoke of Hale’s death.

I was shocked. _Espionage?_ Washington was trying to spy on the British army? And, from my being here, I could infer that it hadn’t gone well.

“Yes, you are correct,” I responded.

Montresor clasped his hands behind his back, nodding sagely. “Mr. Hale was hung on September twenty second. He was hung at Dove Tavern, which isn’t very far away.”

Montresor cleared his throat, making eye contact with me. “Please inform General Washington that we are dreadfully sorry for the loss, and we’d like to remind him that he should be more careful as to where he appoints his men, lest something awful occur.”

I frowned deeply, something akin to anger rising in me at the flippant way of which Montresor reported Hale’s death and the thinly veiled threat.

“What were Mr. Hale’s last words? If you don’t mind me asking,” I said.

Montresor snapped his fingers and a soldier handed him a scroll of paper. “His last words were a prayer to God,” Montresor reported, waving the soldier away.

“Thank you, sir.”

Once the meeting had been called to a close, the Continental soldiers and I hurried back to headquarters.

I was escorted into Washington’s office by a different aide-de-camp than before, this one named Tench Tilghman.

Tilghman opened the door to Washington’s office and I stepped forward. “Ah, Captain Hamilton.” Washington stood. “Your report?”

I nodded. “Mr. Hale was hung at Dove Tavern for espionage.” However subtle it appeared, I noticed that Washington winced. I continued to speak. “His last words were a prayer.”

Washington didn’t say anything. “Was there anything else said?” Another aide-de-camp asked. “Any messages to be relayed from the Captain?”

I nodded. “Yes. The Captain advises that His Excellency be more cautious as to where he employs his men.”

Washington’s eyes narrowed and he turned around. “You may go, Captain Hamilton.”

I bowed my head, walking from the room. 

After Nathan Hale’s hanging, Hale’s last words were reported as such: “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”

It seemed to me that by changing Hale’s last words, they could turn his unhonorable death into a death caused by Hale’s fervent nationalism and desire to be freed from Britain’s rule.

How successful it was varied from person to person. Some saw it as what it was portrayed as. Some saw it as senseless. Some saw it as what Hale deserved.

As for me, knowing the truth, I wondered if, if I died in glory, I would obtain my own glorified story like Hale’s. 

I wondered… 

“I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”

The supposed last words of Nathan Hale, spoken on 09/22/1776

On October twenty seventh of that year, Doctor Benjamin Franklin set sail to France to acquire an alliance with the French.

My company and I were celebrating the sailing when suddenly there was a loud shot. It rang through the trees loudly.

I stood up, grabbing my musket. My gunners followed my lead, pointing their guns at the trees. I turned around just in time to see a group of Hessians— German soldiers allied with the British army— appear in the trees.

 _“Ausführung!”_ A Hessian yelled. My gunners, by the grace of God and daily training, were fast enough to duck, firing at the Hessians, allowing my other men to grab their muskets.

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” I yelled, pointing behind us and at the few men appearing to our right.

I fired a shot, hitting a man in the arm, causing him to double over in pain and clutch his arm. _“Scheiße!”_ he yelled.

I was suddenly tackled to the floor. I was ready to throw a punch, anxiety twisting in the pit of my stomach, the desire to live swimming in my veins, when I noticed it was one of my men. My man looked up, firing in the opposite direction in which I’d been tackled.

I reached up to push my man off of my chest. I stood up, breathing in heavily. Once I’d caught my breath, I pulled my man up, patting his arm.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, retrieving my gun from the floor. I began to reload. I barely noticed, but my hands shook less than they had in previous battles.

I fired a shot as soon I could, watching as a man fell to the floor. 

We were driven North and we encamped, expecting another attack that never came.

As I paced back and forth, I realized then that I had no idea how many men I’d killed in all of the battles that I’d fought in.

On November sixteenth, New York was officially surrendered to the British, sending the Patriots running and the Loyalists returning.

I was ordered to join Washington’s army. I barely made it to their headquarters in Fort Lee, New Jersey, but I did arrive. 

And, on November twentieth, I was informed that I had a visitor. I walked to the edge of camp, being greeted with a slightly worse for wear, but still relatively okay, Hercules Mulligan.

“Mulligan!” I yelled. 

“Hamilton!” Mulligan cried, running towards me and throwing his arms around my waist. “Look at you with the main army.” He whistled slowly.

“I thought you were captured?” I asked, looking at Mulligan’s fine clothes, as well maintained as before, but his face was slightly more gaunt than the last time I’d seen him.

Mulligan shrugged. “I was released after being questioned. They deemed me a gentleman.” Mulligan snorted. “That’s their mistake.”

I laughed, patting Mulligan’s arm. “I’m glad you’re here. But why did you come to where the army is stationed? Why not return to York City or go elsewhere? Do you wish to enlist?”

Mulligan shook his head. “No. I…” He trailed off, glancing around at the two sentries. He grabbed my arm and led me a little ways away, out of the sentries’ earshot.

“What is it?” I asked, placing a hand on my hip.

“It is too dangerous to be a member of The Sons of Liberty in York City, now that the British control it,” he explained. Mulligan grinned wolfishly. “Well I’d still like to help. I’m offering to spy for you.”

My jaw dropped. “You… Didn’t you hear of Nathan Hale and his fate? He was hanged for spying. I wouldn’t like to see your neck stung up.”

Mulligan rolled his eyes. “Neither would I. But I _cannot_ stand by while I’m able to assist the cause. I can’t fight in battle, but I can still assist the cause.”

“How exactly l do you expect to spy?” I asked.

“I run a haberdashery shop! People let things slip when they think it doesn’t matter.” Mulligan grinned proudly. As much as I hated to admit it, it was a valid method.

I sighed loudly, once I realized that Mulligan would not change his stance. Much like me, he had made his decision and there wasn’t much that would deter him.

“I’ll speak with The General,” I acquiesced.

The next day, I walked up to the General’s room at the captured Loyalist, Peter Zabriskie’s, house. I rapped the door three times, tapping my foot in tandem.

Harrison, the aide I had first spoken to, opened the door. “Oh, Captain Hamilton. What is it that you’re here for?”

“I would like to speak with The General about a proposition I have for him.” 

Before Harrison could speak again, the General, still inside the room, said, “Let him in, Colonel Harrison.” Harrison opened the door wider and I walked in.

“Your Excellency, I have a proposition for you,” I said, stepping forward so I was in front of Washington’s desk. “As you may know, a man recently arrived in camp. Hercules Mulligan?”

Washington nodded, his eyes widening slightly in recognition. “Yes, I do,” he answered. “I recall that he was captured during the Battle of Long Island.”

“Yes, he was deemed a gentleman.” I lowered my voice. “Sir, Mr. Mulligan is offering to spy for the cause. He runs a haberdashery business.”

Washington smirked slightly, and I took an inordinate amount of satisfaction in that smirk. “Ah, I do believe I read his name in a list of Sons of Liberty members.”

I nodded. “Yes, he was. Of course, it is too dangerous to be an open Patriot in York City, but Mulligan would still like to aid the cause.”

Washington pursed his lips. “Invite him in.”

I returned to Washington’s office a few hours later, Mulligan in tow. I knocked on the door and Harrison showed me and Mulligan in.

“Your Excellency,” Mulligan greeted, bowing his head. “Hercules Mulligan, at your service.”

Washington walked over to Mulligan and I. “So, you are the infamous Hercules Mulligan. Captain Hamilton here has informed me of your desire to help the cause.”

“Yes, sir,” Mulligan said, enthusiasm creeping into his tone. “I would do _anything_ for the cause.” Washington’s face expressed how obviously impressed he was.

“So, Mr. Mulligan, are you sure you are willing to return to York City under such… grave circumstances?”

Mulligan nodded vigorously. “Of course, Sir.”

I had a distinct feeling this could be the start of something grand or something destructive.

On December the twentieth, we were alerted that a man by the name of John Honeyman had entered camp and had been captured.

It was discovered that he had willingly allowed himself to be captured. He gave a report of the British’s positions and ‘escapes’. 

Upon his ‘escape’ he was instructed to meet with the Hessian commander, Colonel Rall, and tell him, “There will be no attack. The American troops are so disheartened and so bedraggled, they have no plans of advancing any time soon.”

We were all hoping that Rall would believe Honeyman and allow his troops to begin to celebrate Christmas. 

Our hope was that this would be a win for the Continental army. We were in desperate need of a win, after all.

Unfortunately, as all of this was occurring, I was bound to a sick bed, my body shaking with fever. Although I wasn’t cured by December twenty fifth, the day our plan would be executed, before I could be instructed to, I dragged myself from my bed to lead my men.

We met at the riverbank to the Delaware River before nightfall. Most soldiers were unaware of what was occurring. 

We hurriedly pushed the men into boats. We needed to be across the river before dawn. Time was of the essence.

When night fell, we set off across the Delaware River. It seemed that Mother Nature wasn’t on our side anymore than time was.

Snow and rain fell, and as a result of the wind, the boats rocked with the strength of the wind. At the head of all of the boats, leading us, was Washington, standing at the edge of his boat, never wavering despite the strong winds and the hits of ice blowing in the air.

The cold wind bit my red cheeks and nose, and I was suddenly more aware than normal that I was _not_ yet accustomed to the harsh weather, despite more than four years of living in the colonies.

My men rowed our boat. My stomach churned, but I stood tall. Eagerness for what was ahead of us was building in my stomach. I bounced on the balls of my feet in anticipation.

When we arrived on the shores of Trenton that morning, there wasn’t much of a force pushing us back. The Hessians were intoxicated to the point that they slept on the cold ground, covered in snow.

Washington divided us into divisions. I led General Greene’s division to the east of Trenton, our bayonets pointed at anyone who passed us.

We pushed through to the town. Most of the Hessians there seemed barely able to stand. I gestured to the three different groups of Hessians and the men under my command split off into three groups. 

I walked to a group of four Hessians, one lying asleep, his face covered in freshly fallen snow. 

“Hello, sirs,” I said, driving my bayonet through one man’s chest. It was so different from a musket shot. Unlike a musket, I _felt_ the push of a bayonet in the man’s chest.The man let out something between a gurgle and a scream, his body falling towards the bayonet. 

He clutched his chest, blood coming from his mouth. I pulled my bayonet out with a sickening slosh. The man fell to the ground, staining the snow red.

When another man tried to stop me, I plunged the bayonet into his stomach. He gasped, swaying slightly.

When he looked right into my eyes, I shivered, and not from the cold.

Within three minutes, we had overwhelmed the town. My company watched the Hessians while the main army took gunpowder, wine, ammunition, muskets, and other supplies that we desperately needed.

I pointed my bayonet in the direction of a few tied up Hessians. It came to me that I had watched a man die now.

It was true, of course, that Liberty must be won with the blood of the opposers. But that didn’t remove my rampant guilt.

My company had deteriorated to twenty five men from death, desertion, and expired enlistments. But on the third of January, seventeen seventy seven, the main army, my company, and I reached Princeton at sunrise.

I hurried my company to Princeton. I remembered applying here, all those years ago, and how my past self would’ve balked at the fact that I was fighting on the side of the Patriots.

We trudged up the hill, lugging three cannons behind us. I could feel beads of sweat dripping down my face, despite the falling snow and the chill in the air.

I walked beside the canon, my hat pulled low over my eyes. We would fire at the school where the British were hidden inside. Hopefully, if we positioned the canons in the perfect direction, we could blast at the building, sending a message to the British soldiers cowering inside.

I patted the cannon, feeling it’s solid weight under my hand. I sighed heavily, thinking of the boom of cannons and the high pitched screams of the distressed.

“Keep marching, men!” I cried, still somehow happy with my admittedly small company’s expert form.

A ways away, there was the crack of muskets. I just kept walking on.

That was the worst part. 

I was no longer fazed by it at all.

We finally arrived at the top of the mountain. I breathed in the cool early morning air, the chilly breeze fully waking me up.

Down below, we could see the British soldiers peeking out of the windows of Princeton. Two of my men hurried over to the cannons, loading them.

I watched on, nodding my head when one of my men occasionally turned to look at me to assure himself that he was loading correctly.

I paced back and forth, occasionally resting my hand on the cannon to ground myself in the reality of the battle. I was so tired and my limbs were so weak from illness.

I breathed in through my nose. “We’re ready, sir,” I heard. I turned to look at Princeton. I nodded.

“Fire!” I yelled. As soon as I did, there were two loud bangs. I watched as the cannons flew by, blasting into the second story wall of the building.

“Fire!” I repeated. Another bang followed by a crash as the cannon blasted into the first story, shattering a window.

“Reload!” I cried. After a long moment, I stormed over to the cannons. _I suppose I must do it myself…_ I thought, nudging a man out of the way and beginning to load the cannon myself.

Once the cannon was loaded, I hurried over to where I’d stood before where I could overlook Princeton. “Fire!” A loud bang, followed by smoke.

Soon after, the Continental soldiers charged the front door, muskets waving and cocked. After what felt like hours but what likely only a few minutes, a white flag was placed on the second story’s window sill. After, a group of British soldiers walked out of the building, laying down their muskets on the floor.

My men cheered behind me. 

We had _won._

After two American victories within two days, the army was flooded with so many volunteers that the aide-de-camps were ill equipped to deal with all of them.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons behind The General inviting me to dine with him. General Greene, whom I had begun to volunteer for, informed me that General Washington would like to dine with me on the night of January twentieth.

I was led to the dining room of the house the army was stationed in at Morristown, New Jersey. “Your Excellency,” I said, bowing my head.

“Captain Hamilton,” Washington greeted, gesturing to the seat across from him where a bowl of soup and a mug of wine sat. “Sit.”

I did as Washington said. I sat down stiffly, shifting slightly. While I usually plumed under attention, having the whole of General George Washinton, Head of the Continental Army’s, attention on me made me feel acutely aware of everything I was doing.

“So, Captain, do you know why I invited you to dinner tonight?” Washington asked, making eye contact with me as he took a bite of soup.

I took a sip of wine. “I will assume that you are here to congratulate me?” 

Washington tittered softly, nodding. “Yes. You are an intelligent one, Captain.”

I sat up straighter, taking a bite of my soup. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

Washington sighed, lacing his fingers together. “I’m sure you know that we are ill equipped to deal with all of our new recruits. I’ve heard of your accomplishments and I’ve seen firsthand your talents. I’d like to invite you to be my aide-de-camp.

I nearly choked on my wine. Of all of the things that I had been expecting to hear, that was not one of my thoughts. Before I could think of a response, I thought of my glory in battle.

And I thought of sitting at a desk for the duration of the war.

“Sir, with all due respect, I want to fight. I don’t want to spend the duration of the war writing letters.”

Washington’s lips turned down. “Mr. Hamilton, I will be frank with you. You want to prove yourself, don’t you?”

My back went rigid and my breath caught in my throat. “And if I am?” I asked, grabbing my mug of wine.

“Then you should know that one needn’t fight in battle to prove themselves. Captain, you have real potential. I would hate to see you shot down by a bullet.”

“Sir, I— I was appointed as I am because of my bravery in battle. I’ve made my decision. You are not the first person to try and dissuade me.”

Washington nodded. “Captain, you are _incredibly_ talented. I know that I cannot make you agree with me, but I implore you to think on my suggestion.”

After dinner was finished, I spent the next few months thinking about Washington's proposal. To heighten my anxiety about making my decision, _The Pennsylvania Evening Post_ mentioned my possible advancement.

I tried to ignore all of the external factors and simply focus on training my men and contemplating what to do. 

On one hand, I didn’t want to spend the war chained to a desk and squander my chances of making my name a known one.

On the other hand, Washington _was_ the head of the army and very well known in America and other parts of the world. When this war was over and if we won, someone would have to be in charge. And who better than Washington, the very esteemed army veteran who had led the Patriot army?

And if I managed to make Washington trust me, to see more of my potential than he saw anyway, if he ever needed anyone to help him lead, I could be the first one he thought of, making my name known… 

On March first, I was officially appointed as an aide-de-camp to Washington, and I was promoted to the position of Lieutenant Colonel.

“Alexander Hamilton Esquire is appointed Aide-De-Camp to the Commander in Chief; and is to be respected and obeyed as such.”

Alexander Hamilton’s official appointment as Aide-de-Camp to General George Washington, 03/01/1777

The next four months were taxing, physically and emotionally. I gave up my musket for a quill. While I knew that my chances of survival were increased by my decision, I still longed to fight in battle.

But I’d made my decision. I pushed away my thoughts of resigning and focused on writing and proving myself. I also met the other aide-de-camps.

(Tench Tilghman, I soon discovered, wrote the most letters of the aides by far, which irked me so.)

I still worked as hard as I could, maintaining nothing but a casual acquaintance with the other aides. I had joined Washington’s staff to make myself known, not to make friends.

Yet, despite my desires, the other aides often invited me to drink at the local pubs. I obliged, because I was always open to drink and always open to speak on my opinions.

As the months passed, I received letters from Mulligan which, once passed to Washington, were burned in the fireplace.

As for the war effort, it wasn’t going as bad as it could’ve gone, but it certainly could’ve been better. Except for a few battles, most battles that were fought were British victories. 

Which was why it came as such a shock when a French Marquis arrived in America with the desire to join our ragtag army.

Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de La Fayette arrived in Philadelphia on July twenty seventh, seventeen seventy seven. Four days later, he was appointed to the position of honorary Major General in the Continental Army.

In early August, the Marquis was led into camp. The rest of the aides, the army, and I were lined up to greet the Marquis.

The Marquis walked up to the aide-de-camps, shaking our hands and kissing our cheeks. The Marquis stopped when he reached me.

 _“Ah, vous devez être le colonel Hamilton! Notre général a parlé de vous!”_ The Marquis cried, shaking my hand fiercely. 

I leaned up to kiss the Marquis’ cheeks. _“Je suis. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Marquis,”_ I answered.

The Marquis shook his head rapidly. _“Un non-sens, colonel. Vous devez m'appeler Gilbert, si nous voulons être amis!”_

I pursed my lips together. I had never made it my goal to make friends. What did no one understand about that?

The Marquis giggled. _“Je vais vous convaincre, colonel._ We will be the best _amis.”_ He nodded enthusiastically and walked onto Joseph Reed, another aide to Washington.

That night, the aides, the Marquis, and I went to the City Tavern in Philadelphia where we would drink to celebrate the Marquis’ arrival.

“So, how much English do you know?” Richard Kidder Meade, another aide, asked, taking a long chug of whiskey.

“Ah… I have very little…” The Marquis rubbed the back of his neck. “Mais j'apprendrai!”

I nodded, taking a long chug of my drink, the warmth spreading through my body. I breathed in heavily, leaning back against the wall.

“So, Colonel, where are you from?” The Marquis asked innocently, but the question sent me reeling. Memories of blood on sheets, the hot sun, and the crack of thunder passed through my mind.

Everything suddenly felt much too small.

Luckily for me, Tilghman spoke up. “You shouldn’t ask, Marquis. Our Hammie here doesn’t speak of his past. Ever.”

While someone translated that into French, I let out a breath of relief. Even the fact that Tilghman called me that annoying nickname didn’t faze me.

 _“Mes excuses! Je n'avais pas l'intention de ... ah …_ offend you!” The Marquis clapped his gloved hands together.

I waved my hand dismissively. _“C'est bon,”_ I responded, chugging the rest of my mug of whiskey. I certainly needed it.

I was in the colonies, not St. Croix, I reminded myself. The horrors of that hellish island were behind me.

The Marquis still remained frowning. _“Non, ça ne va pas!”_ He reached over the table to pat my hand. I flinched away, slapping my hand on my thigh in my haste to retract my hand.

Later that night, I left, much earlier than everyone else, except Marquis who followed me. “Ah, Colonel!” he cried. I groaned, too drunk to think better of my discourtesy.

The Marquis began to babble, intertwining our arms. _“C'est tellement génial d'être ici avec vous! Je pense que nous serons de grands amis. Vous êtes—”_ I jerked my arm from his grasp.

“Why?” I yelled, swirling around to face the Marquis. “Why are you so desperate to be my friend? I don’t keep or make friends! _Putain, qu'est-ce que personne ne comprend à ce sujet?”_ I asked, switching to French as I got more angry and panicked. “I have never kept anyone! What makes you think you’re above that?”

I kicked the hard ground. I ran my hands over my face, trying to regain my abandoned composure. The Marquis was frowning when I looked up.

“Oh, Alexander,” he cooed, stepping forward. _“Tu as été gravement blessé,_ am I correct?”

I didn’t say anything. I crossed my arms over my chest as if I could shield the shattered pieces I was made up of from Lafayette, as if I hadn’t already shown them to him already.

Willingly or not.

“It matters not,” I said, feeling tears rising in my eyes. Before the Marquis could look _more_ pitying, I wiped the tears from eyes before they could dare fall.

“Leave me be,” I said, forcing myself to look the Marquis in the eyes, despite the fact that my eyes were likely red. “Please.” My voice cracked.

The Marquis shook his head. _“On m'a dit que je suis assez têtu. Nous serons amis, je le jure.”_

I rolled my eyes and stomped off to the aide-de-camp room. I didn’t need friends. I didn’t need friends.

“I don’t need friends,” I said to myself.

Saying it out loud made it sound more like a lie.

On August fifth, I came to the General with a suggestion. For some time, the General had been delaying hiring another aide. But I had an idea of who he should hire.

“Sir,” I began, stepping forward. “Have you thought of hiring Henry Laurens’ son, John? Henry Laurens has quite an influence in Congress. And are in dire need of supplies. Perhaps if Laurens’ son saw first hand our conditions…”

“He could write to his father, who could speak to Congress” Washinton muttered, grabbing his quill and a piece of parchment. 

Later that day, when the letter was finished, Washington pulled me aside. “Befriend him, Alexander,” he ordered. I pursed my lips. 

“Sir—” Washington shook his head.

“This was your suggestion and I think it would be best that someone keep an eye on the boy.” At my skeptical expression, Washington scowled. “You needn’t become the best of friends! Simply watch him and make suggestions. Now go.”

I stomped out of the room. Why did everyone insist upon me making friends? I knew better than they did that it was something to be avoided.

I knew from painful experience.

“For reasons unnecessary to mention, I mean to delay the actual Appointment of my fourth Aide de Camp a while longer; but if you will do me the honour to become a member of my Family, you will make me very happy…”

Excerpt of a letter from George Washington to John Laurens, 08/05/1777

On August seventh, John Laurens arrived at our camp. I stood outside the house in which we were staying, the Marquis by my side in order to greet Mr. Laurens.

Laurens arrived on a chestnut horse, his back perfectly straight and his hair perfectly tied into a ponytail and powdered.

He was the perfect picture of calm and collection. 

He jumped down from his horse. His boots were perfectly shined. Laurens walked towards me first, taking my hand. “John Laurens.” 

I shook his hand. “Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.” His grasp was firm, and when I looked up into his clear blue eyes, I felt utterly enraptured.

Our handshake was bordering on impropriety when I jerked my hand back— quietly lamenting the loss— and squeezing my eyes shut when Laurens turned to introduce himself to Lafayette.

 _Remain calm, Alexander,_ I reminded myself. But I thought of his frankly _beautiful_ blue eyes and how I wouldn’t have minded being consumed…

I gestured to a Private to fetch Laurens’ bags. “I will give you a tour of the house,” I said to Laurens, thinking of Washington’s orders to watch over him.

Laurens nodded, removing his hat and holding it under his arm. I led him to the shared aide-de-camp room. “You’ll be sharing with Meade,” I said.

I could’ve easily been mistaken, but something I thought was relief passed over Laurens’ face.

“If you have any servants coming with you, they’ll go to the servants quarters.” The Private set down Laurens’ bags and I waved him off. He bowed his head and left.

“Come.” I beckoned to Laurens and walked to the aide-de-camp room. Tilghman, Reed, and Harrison were bent over pieces of paper. Meade was nowhere to be seen.

I cleared my throat. The three men looked up. “This is our new volunteer aide, John Laurens.” Everyone stood up, their work abandoned.

Everyone took turns shaking Laurens’ hands. I watched on, my hands clasped behind my back. “I see you’ve already met our own Hammie,” Tilghman cheered, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

I laughed as Laurens looked between us, his eyebrows furrowed. “What have I said about calling me that nickname?” I asked Tilghman.

Tilghman grinned. “Not to. But I don’t care.” I shoved him playfully. 

I sat down at the table where we wrote, grabbing a quill. Laurens sat down beside me. “What should I do?” he asked.

I sighed. “Read some of the General’s letters. You will have to write in his stead often.” I slid him a stack of letters and turned back to my letter to Horatio Gates about Du Bouchet.

For the next few hours, I could feel Laurens’ eyes on me.

That night, the aides, the Marquis, and I left to go drink at the nearby city tavern. I immediately went to the bar, ordering a strong, large cup of ale.

I sat down beside Laurens and Tilghmam. “So, how do you like the north?” Tilghman asked Laurens. “I imagine it’s quite a culture shock from your hot and muggy south.”

Laurens laughed. It was a glorious sound. “I actually have spent the past few years in Europe.” Laurens expression darkened for but a moment before his grin was back, albeit tighter. “I’m now used to cities.”

Meade, now back from wherever he’d gone earlier in the day, sat down with us, balancing three mugs of ale. He huffed. “Ham, you should’ve gone with me. You always manage to get us free ale. Why can’t I do the same?”

I shrugged. “Perhaps you’re simply not as charming as I am.”

Harrison chortled loudly, wiping his eyes. “My deepest sympathies for whatever poor woman marries you.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a large sip of my ale. “Are you married, Laurens?” I turned to face Laurens when Tilghman stood up and went off somewhere. I really didn’t care where.

Laurens went rigid. He shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “No. No, I’m not,” he finally said. I nodded.

“Why not?” I balanced my chin on the heel of my hand. “You’re very handsome.” _Intoxicatingly so,_ I thought.

“You’re very handsome as well,” Laurens said. As soon as he did, he flushed. I thought he would move away from me, but he did not. “Why aren’t you married, then?”

I laughed loudly. “I don’t engage in relationships of _any_ kind.” I must’ve already been a little tipsy, as I poked Laurens in the chest. “So don’t try to become my friend.”

Laurens leaned forward slightly. “I’ve been told I’m quite tenacious.” Laurens licked his lips and my eyes followed the moment.

Arousal built in my stomach, warm and all consuming. The sudden realization of what it was sent me back into reality and I shot up out of my chair, stumbling back.

I stormed out of the tavern, my head spinning. I wanted Laurens. I wanted him badly… I wanted him so badly it felt like a _need._

I shook my head, trying to expel those dangerous thoughts from my head. Once I reached the house, I jumped onto a horse and set out for New Jersey.

A few hours later, Kitty Livingston welcomed me into her room without a second thought. I laid her down on her bed after locking her door, swiftly kneeling down between her thighs.

For the next few hours, all thoughts of Laurens were banished from my mind. 

I returned to camp just in time to see the lovely pink aurora. 

As I worked on letters later that day— Laurens now sitting across from me instead of next to me— I pretended that I didn’t see Laurens looking at the little oval shaped bruise on my neck, just barely visible above my cravat, with narrowed eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue Hamilton and Laurens pining.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I’m sorry it took a bit longer to write. Anyways, the next chapter should be up in a few days.  
> Some notes:  
> 1\. Yes, the Continental army really did overwhelm Trenton in three minutes.  
> 2\. Yes, Tench Tilghman was the aide that wrote the most of all of the aides.  
> 3\. John Laurens was most likely appointed aide-de-camp because of his father’s influence in Congress. And, yes, Laurens was an honorary aide at first.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you so much for the comments and kudos (it’s great motivation to write), and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 10, 1777-October 4, 1777

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Side note:  
> There is French in this chapter. Here are the translations below, in the order in which they were said.
> 
> Are you excited for the battle?  
> Thank you.  
> It will be. You have to be patient.  
> Restless

_August 10, 1777, Warwick Township, Pennsylvania_

We dined at the Crooked Billet Tavern on the way to our new headquarters. I was forced to sit right next to Laurens, and I swore that I could feel his eyes on me.

My suspicions were confirmed. I chanced a glance at Laurens. I turned my head to look at him right as he looked away, taking a bite of meat.

Over the next ten minutes or so, Laurens obviously tried to catch my eyes. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and I turned my body so I was facing Laurens.

“What do you want?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. 

Laurens frowned. He opened his mouth then closed it. I raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to speak. “I was wondering what I’d done to make you dislike me,” Laurens said.

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t dislike you, Mr. Laurens.” Laurens looked at me doubtfully. I supposed his suspicion was fair. I _had_ spent the past few days avoiding him and flinching away from his touch.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Laurens snapped. As soon as he did, he covered his hand with his mouth. He breathed in deeply, as if gathering strength. “I only wish to know what I’ve done wrong so that I may remedy it.”

I shook my head. “Laurens, you haven’t done anything.” And I meant it honestly. All Laurens had done was be devilishly handsome. It wasn’t his fault that I was so tempted.

“My apologies that I’ve made you think such thoughts,” I said stiffly. 

Before Laurens could retort, Washington stood up, tapping his glass with his fork. “Attention, everyone. A toast to our new honorary aide-de-camp, John Laurens.”

Everyone politely clapped and raised their glasses. I raised my glass as well, taking a long sip. “We’re glad to have you,” the Marquis cheered from across the table.

There were hollers of agreement. “Yes, we are,” I murmured. For a second, I was sure Laurens hadn’t heard my words. But when I turned to grab my forks he was looking at me, his eyes wide and a minute smile on his face.

I averted my gaze.

Later that night, as we walked up the stairs to the aide’s room, the Marquis and Laurens walked in front of me.

“I don’t think he likes me very much, no matter what he says,” Laurens said quietly.

The Marquis snorted, shaking his head. “I don't think he likes anyone, honestly. But I like him. He is interesting.”

Laurens nodded. “Yes,” he muttered. “I suppose he is…” 

When Laurens walked into the aide’s room and the Marquis walked down the hall, I forced myself not to hesitate. I walked into the room, finding only one bed that didn’t have two aides occupying it.

Laurens gulped, his eyes flitting in my direction. I kept walking to the bed, setting my bags down as if I didn’t want to scream at the top of my lungs.

Once I’d gotten dressed in my nightdress, I climbed into bed, sighing happily at the softness of the feather mattress. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Laurens was undressing. His waist was slim and his muscles looked firm. His chest was pale, and I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers over it, to trace the dips. My eyes dropped to under Laurens’ abdomen, the v leading to his… 

I turned over in bed, closing my eyes tightly. 

When Laurens crawled into bed beside me, the mattress dipping under the added weight, I curled into myself, trying not to think about Laurens, less than a foot away from me.

Only when Laurens’ breathing evened out did I allow myself to relax.

The next morning, I woke up in Laurens’ strong arms. For a long moment, I simply allowed myself to relax, inhaling Laurens’ musky scent and enjoying the feeling of not waking up alone.

Then I woke up enough to realize who I was lying with. I ducked under Laurens’ arms and I crawled out of bed.

I splashed water onto my face, breathing in a shuddering breath. I braided my chin length hair. I got dressed and dashed out of the room right as Laurens sat up in bed.

I was running, training with the other men, when Laurens ran up to me. “Hello, Hamilton,” he said brightly, jogging beside me.

I rolled my eyes, jogging a little faster. “Can I assist you with something?” I asked, pushing onwards. Laurens breathed in sharply, still managing to keep up with me.

“No, I just want to talk,” Laurens said. “I decided I want to pursue a friendship with you.” I stumbled forward in shock. The only thing that stopped me from falling into the dirt was Laurens’ strong hold on my arm.

We locked eyes and I wondered just how hard it would be to lean in… I yanked my arm out of Laurens’ grasp.

“Laurens, did you not hear me the last time I spoke to you? I don’t keep relationships, platonic or otherwise.”

Laurens furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Why? There must be a reason. So tell me.”

I glared at Laurens, thinking of my mother, of Peter, of James… 

“I have my reasons,” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. “I enjoy my privacy. I don’t wish to speak about it.”

Laurens didn’t seem to want to relent. I sighed loudly. “Fine. Then why did your expression darken when I brought up Europe?”

Laurens bit his lip, seemingly weighing the benefits versus the detriments. His head dropped and he walked away. 

That night, when everyone else was long since asleep, Laurens’ soft voice broke through the quiet. “My brother Jemmy died in Geneva under my care.”

I didn’t say anything. Did he expect me to share a secret too? I breathed in sharply. “I’m an orphan. My mother and I both became ill. She didn’t survive, but I did.”

I wasn’t sure if Laurens took it as a proper answer, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the night.

I slowly allowed myself to relax, even before I heard Laurens’ breath even out.

I fell asleep with Laurens’ hot breath on the base of my neck.

A few nights later, I found myself hunched over our writing table, my hand cramping from holding a quill as long as I had, but I ignored the pain in favor of finishing my letter to Colonel Elias Dayton, instructing him to send information about the strength of the British at King’s Bridge and Staten Island.

I blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake. I rubbed my eyes, feeling ever so foolish. I didn’t even have that much to write, only a few lines, but I felt so tired.

_…Strength of the enemy at Kings Bridge and on Staten Island…_

I sat up straighter, rolling my shoulders and stretching, a little yawn coming from my mouth. I glanced up at the clock on the other side of the room, which revealed that it was half past eleven at night.

“Hamilton?” A voice came from the door. I turned to see Laurens— of course it was Laurens— standing hesitantly in the doorframe. “It’s late. Why aren’t you asleep?”

I shook my hand. “Go to sleep, Laurens. I’ll be in bed in an hour or so.” _Only another sentence or so left,_ I reminded myself.

Laurens ignored me, stepping into the room. As soon as he did, it felt to me like all of the oxygen in the room left.

“I don’t want to be woken up by you coming into our bed. Just come to bed. Your letter can wait until morning,” Laurens insisted. When I looked up from my quill, Laurens was in front of me.

“I only have a line or so left,” I pushed back. “Go.” I gritted my teeth together. With Laurens this close, and his mouth so near to mine, I fought to remain calm.

Laurens shrugged and, instead of walking away like a normal person would do, he sat down right in front of me. “If you only have a line or so left, then I’ll just wait here.”

I wondered how it was possible to simultaneously want, hate, and like one person all at once. 

“Fine,” I snapped, grabbing my quill and finishing the lines, feeling Laurens watching me inquisitively.

“What is your desire to befriend me?” I asked, setting down my quill. “I don’t understand it. I told you, explicitly told you, I don’t maintain relationships, platonic and otherwise. Do you want to get hurt?”

Laurens shook his head. “No, but I find you intriguing and I’ve decided on you. Like I said, I’m tenacious.”

I stomach twisted in the best and worst way possible. “Laurens, go to bed.” I finished my letter, closed the ink pot, and stood up.

Laurens nodded in satisfaction. I rubbed my temples. Why couldn’t he leave? “Wait!” Laurens said, rushing to my side. “You’ve… ah…”

Laurens retrieved a handkerchief from his coat pocket. I watched as he dipped the end of it into a nearby basin of water, pressing it to my temple. “Ink…” he explained quietly.

I turned to look at him as Laurens dropped his arm. Just as he did, he raised his other arm, gently placing his hand on my cheek.

I leaned into the touch for just a moment, allowing myself this one moment, when suddenly Laurens retracted his hand, his eyes wide in horror.

“Thank you, Laurens,” I puffed, relieved that Laurens had done what I could not. I brushed past him and hurried to our shared room and, unfortunately, our shared bed.

Laurens did not come to bed that night, to my knowledge.

On August twenty second, the army began to march towards Brandywine River for our next battle. I hopped onto my horse.

Beside me, Laurens jumped up onto his horse. I turned away. Ever since the night in the aide’s room, Laurens had been avoiding me.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the Marquis. “Ah, Monsieur Hamilton!” he cried, galloping up to me. _“Êtes-vous excité pour la bataille?”_

I bit my cheek. “I will not be fighting. Not that I wouldn’t like to…”

“You should be able to fight!” The Marquis exclaimed, his accent still very prevalent, despite the fact that his English was rapidly improving.

 _“Je vous remercie,”_ I responded, feeling gratitude at the fact that _someone_ grasped my potential. “But I hold out hope that it will happen one day.”

Lafayette nodded brightly, his grin wide. _“Ce sera. Tu dois être patient.”_

I grimaced. I had never liked being patient.

The next day, we stopped at 4601 North 18th Street in Philadelphia. I found Laurens talking with his slave, Shrewsberry. 

“Laurens!” I yelled, walking over to him. “Where are your bags? We’re being assigned tents.” I bit my lip. “We were placed together.”

Laurens’ eyes widened and it seemed a million different expressions passed over his face. As much as I tried, I couldn’t decipher any one of them in particular.

“I’ll take your bags,” Shrewsberry said quietly, grabbing Laurens’ bags and hurrying away out of sight. I turned to Laurens.

“You own slaves, I see.”

Laurens flinched. _Hard._ “He’s my father’s, technically,” Laurens objected, but it was weak and it seemed that Laurens didn’t believe himself.

“But he’s under your care,” I pointed out, crossing my arms over his chest. 

“I treat him well!”

I snorted. What an utter fool. “He is your property, Laurens. He has no choice but to obey your every wish.”

Laurens rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “I don’t support slavery. But my father sent him to me… I can’t free him.”

I shook my head. “You _can_ but you _won’t_. There’s a difference.” I looked challengingly at Laurens, almost begging him to fight me in this. He did not.

“Let me lead you to our tent,” I sighed softly, beckoning Laurens to follow me with my index finger. “Come.”

Laurens obeyed, walking beside me. We walked in an almost companionable silence before Laurens spoke up. “Why did you join the army?”

I hummed. “Why did you?”

Laurens huffed out a dry laugh. “Nothing is ever easy with you, is it? But I joined because I support this cause.”

I nodded. “How magnanimous of you,” I responded. At Laurens’ expectant look, I dropped my shoulders. “I joined the army to become more well known.”

Laurens laughed, but it wasn’t malicious or mocking. “That _is_ a valid reason to join the army. But it really doesn’t matter why you’ve joined the army. You’re a fantastic aide and worker.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I couldn’t exactly tell Laurens that I joined the army to rise up in my station because I was a bastard orphan that came from a small island in the middle of nowhere.

To him, it simply sounded like I was attention seeking.

“It’s my pleasure,” Laurens answered, his voice as low as mine.

As we walked to our tent, neither of us spoke. And, when our hands barely brushed for just a second, neither of us flinched away.

On September the eleventh, seventeen seventy seven, a foggy day, we began the battle of Brandywine Creek.

We believed that the enemy would flank us from the right and split their forces. I sat on my horse, watching impatiently as the British soldiers had their morning tea.

I sighed. The other aides were off doing their assigned tasks, and Laurens was with General Greene’s forces.

I bit my lip, fumbling with a button on my coat. This was the part I hated the most about battle: the waiting. Waiting to begin the fight, waiting for intelligence, waiting, waiting, waiting.

“You are… uh… _agitée,_ my friend,” Lafayette said, riding his horse to sit beside me. “Patience is a virtue.”

“But not one that I possess,” I grumbled. 

I was surprised by Lafayette’s burst of laughter. “You are funny!” I rolled my eyes. Right as I was about to respond, Major Spear hurried up to us, causing Washington, Count Casamir Pulaski, Lafayette, and I to turn to look at him.

“Sir, we were wrong! The army is all amassed here!” The Major panted, doubling over and grabbing his knees. I turned to look at Washington, who remained staring straight ahead.

“Colonel Hamilton, go alert General Greene of the change in plans. Inform him not to engage until the northern division arrives,” Washington ordered, looking out over the hill. 

“Yes, sir,” I responded, slapping the reins on my horse and setting off to General Greene’s division.

Laurens was the first one I saw, talking to Greene on his horse. “General!” I yelled, galloping up to the two men. “We’ve received new intelligence. The British are all amassed here. They’re not split in two.”

Greene nodded, a flicker of annoyance passing over his face. “Thank you, Colonel.” Greene galloped off. Laurens and I watched his retreating form. I spoke first.

“Be safe,” I said, half wishing that Laurens wouldn’t hear me. But he obviously did, based on his expression.

Before Laurens could say anything, I galloped back to Washington.

I wasn’t sure why I cared so much what happened to Laurens.

I rode back up to the riverline where Washington, Pulaski, and Lafayette were sitting atop their horses.

Right as I arrived, Lafayette moved to face me. “I shall be going to the fiend. Adieu!” He galloped off. I turned to Washington.

“Greene is waiting for the north division’s arrival,” I relayed. Washington didn’t say anything, his gaze down on the riverbank.

We waited with bated breath until late afternoon. General Sullivan, Stirling, and Stephen arranged their men into a defensive position when we noticed that they were heading north, right to where forces flanked us from above.

We were right. Cornwallis _is_ flanking us.“Shit!” I gasped, watching as the army scrambled to regain lost time and ground.

“Watch your language, Colonel!” Washington bellowed, his face distorting in anger. In my shock and anger, I had forgotten about Washington’s rule that gentlemen did not curse.

I squinted at the army. I thought I saw Lafayette, his sword raised high in the air. “What will we do?” I asked, my fingers tapping anxiously against my thigh.

“We will call a council of war,” Washington said, setting off. I coughed, setting off after Washington, my heart beating fast.

If they cornered us… If they cornered us, eleven thousand versus eighteen thousand… I didn’t allow myself to finish the thought.

“Quiet,” I gritted out to myself, tightening my hold on the reins.

We met at a council with Greene and Knox at the house of William Brinton. Washington paced, spreading a map out on the table. I prepared my portable desk, setting it on my lap and grabbing parchment and a quill.

“What will we do?” Greene asked, running a hand through his hair. 

“We have to make up for lost time,” Knox said, running his hands over the blue and red bricks representing the British and us. “If they corner us…” 

Like me, Knox didn’t finish his thought, the implications too much to bear. I scribbled down notes, tapping my foot against the floor.

“Artillery,” Washington said suddenly. He moved the blue pieces. “General Knox, you’ll deploy your artillery to slow the British advance…”

Knox did deploy his artillery to slow the British’s advance. Greene, with the added forces of the remnants of Sullivan, Stephen, and Stirling's forces, would form south, allowing the rest of the army to retreat.

It was clear then: we would not win this battle. 

Greene managed to hold off the British for an hour while the rest of us retreated to Chester. We were still riding when Meade made an appearance, hurrying up to Washington.

“Your Excellency, Major General Lafayette has been shot in the thigh. And Colonel Laurens has been injured by a cannonball. Both were injured while trying to rally the men.”

My head spun. Laurens had been injured? But wasn’t that _just_ my luck? I had just started to allow myself to like Laurens and he went off and got himself injured. 

I vaguely heard Washington saying something about sending Major James Monroe to translate for the Doctor, but my thoughts were running wild.

Laurens was injured… That _fool._ What had he been thinking, trying to save a lost cause? 

But, maybe, the better question was why did I care so much?

I visited Laurens and Lafayette later that day at the doctor’s tent. Lafayette was asleep, but Laurens was awake, albeit very drunk.

“Hamilton!” he slurred, giggling and waving his arm. “You’re here! See, you don’t hate me!”

I shook my head, swaying slightly as I observed Laurens. “I never said I hated you.”

“Yeah, but you—” Laurens hiccupped. “You implied it. But I don’t hate you. I think you’re interesting. Although, I do hate how you make me feel—”

“Hush up, Laurens,” I snapped, cutting Laurens off before he could say something that he’d regret when he came to his senses. “Go to sleep.”

Right as I turned to leave, I noticed Laurens pouting. “Stay?” Laurens gripped my wrist. My whole body tingled at the touch of his fingers.

At Laurens’ desperate expression, I felt my reluctance melt. “I’ll stay until you sleep,” I said, sitting down on the chair at Laurens’ bedside.

Laurens smiled and closed his eyes. Once Laurens fell asleep, I didn’t hesitate in leaving the tent.

But, despite losing a few hours, I couldn’t feel anger, as Laurens was _alive._ He had survived. 

And I could finally breathe.

On the eighteenth of September, I was ordered to burn flour mills at the Schuylkill River before the British could seize it. I was sent with Captain Henry “Light Horse Harry” Lee and eight cavelrymen.

“Captain Lee?” I asked, approaching the stout man.

Lee nodded. “Yes. You’re Colonel Alexander Hamilton, I presume?” I nodded, resting my hand on the holster of my pistol.

I jumped up onto my horse, feeling the familiar thrill at the thought of the possible battle awaiting me. “Let us go,” I said, adjusting in my seat.

Lee nodded. “Let’s.”

We set off, arriving at the Schuylkill River quickly. I instructed the men to light matches and throw them on the flour mills.

It was imperative that we burn them down. And, more selfishly, Washington had finally entrusted me with something that could turn into a possible battle. I didn’t want to let him down. I _couldn’t_ let him down.

I grabbed a match myself, throwing it onto the flour mills, anxiety setting deep in my stomach. I lit another match, the smell of smoke wafting up into my nose.

We remained lighting matches for the next few minutes, when suddenly there was a loud crack. 

The very familiar crack of a musket, to be exact.

One man fell to the floor, a bullet right between his eyes. After that, more men fell like leaves from the trees in autumn. 

Three other men and I grabbed a nearby raft. I grabbed my pistol, cocking it and firing at a British dragoon.

The man stumbled to the floor, his shot going wild. Behind me, one of our men gasped, his shirt rapidly turning bright red.

One of the men turned to me. “Do we leave him?” I glanced at the rapidly bleeding out man, the boat, and the British dragoons, which were quickly gaining on us.

I sent a mental apology to the poor man and I dove onto the raft, the two other men following me. 

As we were paddling away, just as I thought that we might get out of this unscathed, there was another shot and one of the two men clutched his arm with a wince.

“Fuck,” I gasped. The raft was rapidly dipping on the left side. “Jump overboard!” I yelled, diving into the water. The two men obeyed.

I peeked out of the water. Lee had frozen. After a moment, he jumped onto his horse. “Retreat!” he practically screamed, setting off, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in his wake.

“Lee!” I screamed. _The coward._ But I couldn’t think of that. Now my thoughts were on surviving and surviving alone.

“Swim!” I instructed the two men. We swam in the opposite direction of the raft. I pushed myself hard, thankful, for once, that I had spent my youth on an island.

We pushed onward. I took in a sharp breath, grabbing a rock on the riverbank, successfully stopping myself from floating further.

I pulled myself up, then the other two men. I turned my attention to the wounded man. The bullet was obviously still in his arm. That was better than it having gone through completely, at the very least.

“The bullet is still in his arm,” I said to the other man. “He will live.” I stood up. “Fetch a Doctor. I have to go.”

And I did. Not only did I have to return to headquarters, but if the British were _this close_ to where Congress was stationed in Philadelphia, it was likely that they would push on to Philadelphia and to Congress… 

I ran as fast as I could through the woods. Thankfully, I could see a little cabin in the distance. I walked up, tapping on the door.

Only once I knocked did it occur to me to wonder whether or not they were Patriots.

A man opened the door, his eyes widening at my disheveled appearance. “Sir, I need to write a letter, if you’d be so kind as to oblige me.”

The man looked over my body skeptically. “Why?”

I inwardly groaned. “Sir, the fate of your country is at stake.” Let the man take what he wanted from that.

That did the trick. The man stepped aside and directed me to his writing desk.

I sat down at the writing desk, beginning to pen a letter to John Hancock.

“If Congress have not yet left Philadelphia, they ought to do it immediately without fail, for the enemy have the means of throwing a party this night into the city.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to John Hancock, 09/18/1777

I could see the British encampment. What I was prepared to do was risky, probably stupid, and impulsive, but I’d made my decision.

I shrugged off my blue coat, stashing it in a nearby bush. I squared my shoulders. At the very least, it was dark, which would make it harder for me to be detected.

Stealing a horse wasn’t exactly the definition of stealthy, after all.

I pushed forward into the camp, my feet slightly cold because I had abandoned my boots. While I knew that it was the smart thing to do, I didn’t have to enjoy it.

Thankfully, I quickly stumbled across a barn of sorts. I cautiously stepped inside, my hand on the trigger of my pistol.

Luckily, there was no one inside but the horses. I grabbed a horse and hopped on, riding out of the camp and back to the bush where I had stashed my coat and boots.

I set off for camp.

I returned to camp late that night. I was quickly let in by the sentries. I jumped off of the horse, walking up to the house. 

When I opened the door, I was greeted by Beth, a camp follower who worked in the kitchens. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

“Colonel Hamilton?” she asked, placing her hand over her forehead. 

I nodded. “Um… yes?” I laughed awkwardly. “Where are the other aides?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips.

Beth remained blinking at me, as if I had come back from the dead. “They’re in the second bedroom…”

I nodded. “Thank you.” I walked up the stairs, stopping in front of an ornate mirror hung on a wall, smoothing the mess that was my hair.

I pushed open the door. Surprisingly, everyone was still awake, sitting on the beds, looking utterly dejected. When they turned to look at me, I almost could’ve laughed at their expressions.

Lafayette swayed as if he just might faint. “Alexander?” Tilghman gasped.

There was a loud sob. I turned to see Laurens, who was wiping his eyes and laughing. Laurens walked over to me, throwing his arms around my neck and burying his face in my chest.

I froze, unsure of what to do. Slowly, I wrapped my fingers around the hem of Laurens’ coat. “Might I ask why everyone is acting as if I’ve come back from the dead?” I asked, looking at everyone over Laurens’ head.

Laurens let out another little sob. I hesitantly rubbed circles into the little sliver of exposed skin above Laurens’ hip.

Reed spoke up first. “Captain Lee returned with his report on the battle at Schuylkill.” He sighed. “It reported you as dead.”

I balked. “So I _have_ come back from the dead in a way.” I snorted, still holding Laurens in my arms. “Listen, if ‘Light Horse’ Harry Lee had stayed for even another minute, he would’ve seen that three of us, including myself, survived.”

Laurens hesitantly pulled away from me, his eyes red. “Here, let’s fetch you some new clothes,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the aide’s writing room and into the aide-de-camp’s bedroom.

The minute the door closed behind us, Laurens glared at me. “I thought you dead, and you have the audacity to laugh about it.”

I frowned. “Why do you care?”

Laurens shook his head and huffed as if I was missing something important. “Because I care about you and you care about me. Despite what you say, we are friends. You stayed at my bedside, for Christ’s sake!”

I shook my head. “You don’t understand. I _cannot_ be friends with you. I care too much.” The realization that I cared about Laurens too much to lose him frightened me more than I could express with words.

Laurens stepped towards me and I stepped back. “You can’t keep everyone away,” Laurens said, his fingers barely brushing mine. “You will still be hurt. People aren’t gentle.” 

Laurens laced our fingers together. “I care about you, Alexander. And you care for me, too. And I’m not giving up. Be my friend willingly or deal with me bothering you.”

“We already are friends,” I admitted quietly. My breath hitched in my throat. When had I allowed that? Before I could pull away, Laurens grinned.

“Thank you for admitting that.” His smile dropped and he stepped towards me. “Please don’t actually die, Alexander. I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

I shifted. “I wouldn’t want you to die either.” I looked up at John from under my eyelashes. His breath was hot on my cheek.

“John…” I said softly.

John leaned down, so close yet so far from my cracked lips, when he suddenly threw himself back, his eyes wide in fright. We remained breathing heavily and staring at each other, so many words to be said, but none passing our lips.

“I’ll let you get dressed,” Laurens whispered, closing the door on his way out of the room.

I remained clutching the post of one of the beds, my breath coming in harsh spurts.

What exactly had just happened?

A few days later, on the twentieth of September, seventeen seventy seven, the Americans faced a crushing defeat in Paoli, Pennsylvania.

The next day, I received a letter from General Washington, who was currently in Pottsgrove, Pennsylvania.

“Hammie, a letter for you,” Fitzgerald, another aide, said, throwing the letter at me. “It’s from the General.”

Laurens and the other aides perked up at that. Laurens and I made brief eye contact. Laurens looked away first.

After the night when I returned from being presumed dead, Laurens had been avoiding me like the plague. 

I opened the letter, my eyes scanning over the letter. In the envelope was also a letter of instructions. “The General is sending me to Philadelphia to collect supplies,” I murmured, setting down the letters.

“Philadelphia?” Laurens repeated. “But the enemy is heading to Philadelphia. They could be there already!” Laurens’ eyes widened. 

I gave him a flat look.

“That’s a damn death sentence, if the enemy is already there,” Laurens grumbled.

Lafayette spoke up. _“Je doute que le général vous envoie en danger ouvert,”_ he said.

“English,” Tilghman admonished. Lafayette shrugged sheepishly. “But the Marquis is correct. If the enemy was already in Philadelphia, there would be no reason to collect supplies. They’d have them already.”

I nodded at Tilghman’s point. “Yes. Well, I must begin to pack a bag.” I tucked the letter into my coat pocket and left the room without another word.

“Painful as it is to me to order and as it will be to you to execute the measure, I am compelled to desire you immediately to proceed to Philadelphia, and there procure from the inhabitants, contributions of blankets and Cloathing and materials to answer the purposes of both; in proportion to the ability of each.”

Excerpt of Alexander Hamilton’s instructions on what to do in Philadelphia, written by George Washington, 09/21/1777

I was loading my bags onto my horse when Lafayette and Laurens approached me, Laurens looking much more apprehensive than Lafayette did.

“ _Mom ami,_ we will miss you,” Lafayette said, throwing his arms around my torso. I awkwardly patted Lafayette’s back.

The hug ended. “I will return in a few days,” I said, hoping that it provided comfort for Lafayette. Laurens stepped up to me, shifting from foot to foot.

“Be safe,” Laurens said softly.

“You be safe as well.” That night, Laurens and his battalion were set to launch a surprise attack on a nearby camp of redcoats. I would hate to hear of his demise.

Laurens nodded. “I will.” I could tell that Laurens wished to say something, but he didn’t speak. He simply stared at me.

“I have to go,” I said. As much as I would’ve liked to stay there forever and analyze John Laurens, I had to go if I wanted to reach a stopping point before nightfall.

Right as I was about to turn away, Laurens threw his arms around my chest. My hands were hanging in mid air. Slowly, I curled my arms around John’s back.

After a long moment that I wouldn’t have minded lasting forever, Laurens pulled away. Our faces were so close that I thought he might kiss me.

But I turned away and stepped back without giving him a chance. “Adieu,” I said quietly, climbing up onto my horse and riding away.

I arrived in Philadelphia on the twenty third. The next day, Congress evacuated Philadelphia and set their sights upon Lancaster.

Upon my arrival, I wrote a letter to Lieutenant Colonel White ordering him to collect horses from everyone in the city except the poor or those who need them for their livelihood.

On September twenty seventh, I left Philadelphia for headquarters.

And on September twenty eighth, the British army officially occupied Philadelphia.

I returned to headquarters a few days later. Immediately upon my return, I began transcribing Washington’s plans for the upcoming battle of Germantown.

When I returned, I also had the _pleasure_ to meet Laurens’ friend, Major John White. “Jack!” Laurens yelled, rushing up to John and throwing an arms around his shoulders.

“John!” White cried out, patting Laurens’ back. I frowned, directing my attention back to the General’s Germantown plans.

“You must be Colonel Hamilton,” White said, holding his hand out. “Laurens had briefly mentioned you.”

I didn’t look at Laurens. Instead, I took White’s hand. “Major John White, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

I spent the next thirty minutes being forced to witness Laurens and White becoming reacquainted with one another.

I snuck a few glances at Laurens. Everytime I looked at him, he was smiling. He was smiling more than I’d ever seen him smile.

After a particularly boisterous bout of laughter, I jumped up out of my chair, collecting my parchment, quill, and ink pot.

“Where are you going?” Laurens asked.

“The library. It’s too loud. I can’t think.” I slammed the door behind me on my way out. It was dramatic, yes, but I really could not have cared less.

All I had ever done to Laurens was anger him or make him cry. 

I wished I had the ability to make Laurens smile.

On October fourth, seventeen seventy seven, the first shots were fired at dawn, officially starting the Battle of Germantown. 

The plan was that four separate columns would march towards four separate staging points, where, upon arrival, they would launch their attacks.

Unfortunately, like at Brandywine, the day was dense and foggy. I couldn’t help but think this was a dark omen.

The General had all of the Continental soldiers and officers pin a piece of white paper to our hats so we could differentiate ourselves from the British soldiers in the haze.

After some time, we received word that the British had taken a stronghold of a nearby house called Cliveden.

We had tried to storm and take hold of the house once again, but all of our efforts were repulsed by the British, much better equipped than us.

Washington called a council of war.

“I say we bypass Cliveden,” I said at Washington’s prompting, looking up from my notes. “We should cut our losses.”

Washington sighed, looking at the map as the answer of what to do would appear and show itself to him.

“No,” Knox interrupted, shaking his head from side to side. “It would be foolish to leave a garrison in enemy hands! Especially in the rear of a forward advance.”

Once I’d scribbled down Knox’s words, I turned to look at Washington. 

The room was rendered silent, everyone waiting for Washington’s word on what to do. Slowly, Washington nodded. “We cannot allow the garrison to remain in British hands.”

After hours of battle, we were still unable to capture Cliveden and were forced to fall back. The British harried us for roughly nine miles before they relented.

Tilghman rode up to us, breathing heavily. “Sir, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens was injured. He was shot in the shoulder trying to break down the door at Cliveden.”

Washington must’ve said something in response, but I couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing to my ears. 

Laurens was shot… Laurens was shot… Laurens was shot…

This was so much worse than a light contusion by a cannonball.

“Sir, let me go to him,” I said to Washington, feeling as if I might burst if I couldn’t assure myself that Laurens was alive and well.

Washington glared at me. “Colonel, you will stay right here.”

“Sir—”

“That is an order,” Washington snapped, looking at me as if he dared me to protest again. I puffed out a breath and continued riding.

Of course, wasn’t it just my luck to lose someone just as I’d begun to care about them? Why had I expected anything different?

“The Rebels were each equipped with a piece of white paper in his hat, which made us imagine they meant a surprise by night.”

Excerpt of British Major John Andre’s diary, 10/04/1777

I saw Laurens later that night. Laurens was laid up in bed in the doctor’s tent. I cautiously approached his bed, as if he’d disappear if I moved too quickly.

Lafayette was already there, watching a sleeping Laurens. For a moment, I didn’t even care that Lafayette could see me visiting Laurens’ bedside

All I cared about was the fact that Laurens’ chest was rising and falling.

Lafayette stood up upon seeing me. “The Doctor said that our Laurens will live,” he told me. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Then I can leave,” I said, for I had no reason to stay at Laurens’ bed now that I knew his wound wasn’t fatal. Lafayette grabbed my arm before I walked too far.

“It is alright, Alexander. You were… uh… _worried_ about your friend.” For once, I didn’t have the energy to deny that we were friends.

“I thought he had died,” I said softly. Suddenly, Lafayette enveloped me in his long arms and, instead of fighting it, I simply allowed myself to stand still, my arms sagging, in Lafayette’s warm embrace.

When I finally stepped back, Lafayette rested his hand on my shoulder for a few seconds before he left the tent.

I sat down on the chair that Lafayette had previously occupied. Laurens’ eyelids fluttered for a moment before his eyes stilled.

I gently took Laurens’ hand, pressing my fingers against his wrist so that I could feel the low thrum of his pulse.

Once I felt it, I breathed in deeply, running my hand over John’s soft cheek.

Later that night, when I was forced to leave the tent, I pressed a gentle kiss to John’s head after I made sure that no one was looking.

I wasn’t sure what exactly compelled me to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Yes, more Hamilton and Laurens pining. I hate to say it, but they’re not going to get together for a little while longer. The next chapter should be up in a few days. Anyways, a few notes:  
> 1\. I don’t know if Hamilton and Laurens would’ve shared a bed, but because, most of the time, the aides shared a room, it was certainly possible. I saw my chance to implement fir angst and I took it.  
> 2\. According to a letter from Laurens to his father, the army trained everyday, hence the running scene.  
> 3\. John André is the British soldier that was involved in the turning of Benedict Arnold and that Hamilton probably had a crush on. He’ll most likely pop up a few more times.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day.
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 6, 1777-March 3, 1778

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_October 6, 1777, Perkiomen Creek, Pennsylvania_

Two days after the battle, Laurens, who had since awoken, was promoted to an official aide-de-camp. 

One the one hand, I was happy that Laurens’ potential had been recognized. One the other hand, Laurens’ official appointment meant that he would be staying.

Which had dangerous implications for both Laurens and I.

I was walking in the woods, thinking over everything. Laurens was staying. He was staying, and everything he arose in me was staying with him.

I breathed in through my teeth, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders. 

Damn Laurens for being so amazing. Damn Laurens for being here at all. Damn Washington for appointing him. Damn me for _suggesting_ that Washington appoint him.

I kicked a pebble, watching as it rolled away. I walked over to kick the pebble again when I heard the loud bark.

I turned around, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion, when I was tackled to the floor by a dark brown dog, a private running behind him.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” The Private cried, his eyes widened in horror.

I shook my head. “It’s okay.” I ran my hand over the dog’s head, grabbing the little gold dog tag and squinting to read it.

_General William Howe._

“He’s British General Howe’s dog?” I asked, looking up at Private. The dog licked my cheek and I smiled down at him.

The Private nodded. “Yes, sir. He followed us off of the field after Germantown. I was going to bring him to Washington.”

I stood up. “I’ll take him, Private,” I said. “You go on.” The Private looked somewhat disappointed, but he did as I asked, nodding his head, turning around, and walking away.

“Hello, dog,” I greeted softly, running my hand over the dog’s fur coat. The dog wagged his tail and I sighed. At least in regards to the dog I could understand what he was feeling.

“If only humans were as simple,” I said quietly. I stood up and clicked my tongue at the dog. “Come on, puppy.”

I walked back to headquarters, the dog trailing behind me. Once I reached the aide’s room, I opened the door, the dog bounding up to a man with blonde hair and his arm in a sling.

_Laurens._

Laurens smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Down, doggy,” he ordered gently, scratching behind the dog’s ear.

My heart pounded in my chest at the sight.

“Who’s dog is that?” Washington asked, the corners of his lips upturned in an imitation of a smile at the sight of the dog.

“It’s General Howe’s. According to a Private, it followed us off the field.”

Tilghman frowned, glaring at the dog. “I say we kill it. Send a message,” he offered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Colonel Tilghman!” Washington barked. “We are not barbarians. We will return the dog.” Washington addressed me. “Write a letter to Howe.”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, sitting down at the writing desk beside Laurens. When I turned to grab a quill, I noticed that Laurens was watching me closely.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” I admitted quietly to Laurens, knocking my knee against his. Laurens’ eyes widened and he turned to look at me.

“My friend, John White, died.” My eyes widened and the horrible part of me, the part that I tried not to listen to, beamed at the news.

“I’m sorry.”

Laurens shrugged. “It’s no one’s fault except the British. I had just thought… well you didn’t visit me…”

I remembered holding Laurens hand, the low thrum of his pulse, and my lips brushing his cool forehead.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” I repeated, turning back to my letter.

As I was writing, I swore I heard Laurens say, “I’m glad that you survived.” But when I turned to look at him, his eyes were on his papers.

“General Washington’s compliments to General Howe. He does himself the pleasure to return him a dog, which accidentally fell into his hands, and by the inscription on the Collar appears to belong to General Howe.”

A letter from George Washinton, likely written by Alexander Hamilton, to General William Howe, 10/06/1777

On October thirtieth, while I was in Whitpain Township to take the minutes at a Council of War meeting, I received a letter from Washington m, instructing me to go forth to Albany to obtain reinforcements from General Hortraio Gates.

Caleb Gibbs, another aide to Washington, accompanied me on the journey. I suppose it made sense to take forces from Gates. We _were_ in dire need of new supplies and troops.

“We’ll have to arrive as soon as possible,” I said to Gibbs, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I would like to arrive in Albany in a week.”

And I did. I arrived in Fishkill in New York on November second. That morning, I was set to meet with Daniel Morgan, the leader of some of America’s best riflemen.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Morgan said, standing up from the table at the pub in which we had agreed to meet. “I trust you’ve had safe travels so far?”

I nodded my head. “Yes, Mr. Morgan, I have.” While I’d ridden, I’d worried about coming across redcoats, thieves, or anyone remotely dangerous who could do me or Gibbs harm.

Luckily, our travels had been free of any dangers.

Morgan smiled. “Good, good.” He handed me a cup of coffee. “It’s black with no cream.”

I smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” I took a sip of the coffee, relishing the warmness on my tongue. I cleared my throat. “So, how will we obtain more men?”

Morgan’s face grew serious. “General Israel Putnam should be able to send four thousand troops,” he said, handing me a letter from Putnam.

I read the letter quickly, tucking it into my overcoat’s pocket once I’d finished. “Thank you,” I said.

Morgan nodded. “It’s my pleasure.”

Later that day, I had the chance to meet with Colonel Hughes, an aide to General Gates. “You are taking men from General Putnam?” he asked, looking at me.

I nodded. “Yes. He should be able to send four thousand men.” I patted the letter in my pocket. 

Hughes shook his head. “What do you mean? He has another seven hundred Jersey militiamen with him, under General Wynds.”

My jaw dropped. “What in God’s name?” I whispered quietly, angering seeping into my veins. _That selfish little ass,_ I thought. 

“Thank you for telling me, Colonel,” I replied, my mask of calmness firmly back in place, despite the rage in my heart.

The next day, I met with General Putnam. I knew that it was imperative that I be calm and collected, but that didn’t stop me from imagining slapping the man.

“General Putnam,” I greeted, bowing my head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Putnam shook my hand. “You as well, Colonel Hamilton. I trust that Daniel Morgan told you what I can offer?”

“Yes, he did.” I sighed. “Sir, I’ve been informed by an aide of General Gate’s that you have an extra seven hundred Jersey militiamen with you, under the command of General Wynds.”

Putnam’s lips thinned into a line. “I do.”

I sighed. “I take it that you don’t want to send them to General Washington?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Putnam laced his fingers together. 

I took his silence as a ‘yes’.

I took a step towards Putnam’s desk, looking him in the eyes. “Sir, you want to win this war, correct?” Putnam nodded slowly. I continued. “To do that, we need all the men we have. We don’t have enough men or supplies, but you may help remedy one of those things if you give more men.”

Putnam didn’t look me in the eyes. “You have even more men, don’t you?” I asked, digging my nails into the palm of my hand, annoyance building in me.

Putnam sighed loudly. “I can give you seven thousand men.”

I took that as a win.

On November fifth, Gibbs and I arrived in Albany after riding sixty miles for five consecutive days. 

Unfortunately, my feelings of pride over my victory with Putnam and arriving in Albany so soon diminished when I discovered that General Gates, having been asked for two full sized brigades, decided to send one reduced bridge under General Glover.

I practically seethed with anger, writing a scathing, yet still polite, letter to General Gates. As much as I tried to prevent it, my anger seeped into the words of the letter.

“I did not imagine you would pitch upon a brigade with the regiments before mentioned would amply answer the purposes of this post. When I preferred your opinion to other considerations, I did not imagine you would pitch upon a brigade little more than half as large as the others; and finding this to be the case I indispensibly owe it to my duty, to desire in His Excellency’s name, that another brigade may go instead of the one intended. As it may be conducive to dispatch, that Genl. Glovers brigade should be the one; if agreeable to you; you will give directions accordingly.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Hortario Gates, 11/05/1777

A few days after I wrote the letters to Gates, I was invited to dine at Philip Schuyler’s home in Albany, the Pastures, on behalf of General Washington.

I was escorted into Schuyler’s house by one of his servants, a man named Prince. “Mr. Schuyler and his daughters will see you in the parlor,” Prince said, walking ahead.

I followed him, keeping my hands clasped behind my back. “Introducing Alexander Hamilton.” Prince stepped aside so that I was no longer hidden behind his back.

I bowed. “Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton, at your service.”

When I looked up, I was greeted with three people. One of them was obviously Philip Schuyler. He was holding a glass of scotch in his hand.

Beside him were two young women, obviously his daughters. One was in a pale cream dress and very obviously watching me.

The one next to her was shorter than her sister, but much more beautiful. She was petite and didn’t look at me directly, but I was still drawn to her beautiful dark eyes.

Her eyes seemed to _sparkle._ I wondered how men didn’t fall to their feet begging for her hand when they looked into her eyes.

Schuyler approached me, grabbing my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel. These are two of my daughters, Elizabeth and Margarita.”

“Margarita Schuyler,” the taller of the women introduced herself, curtsying low. “We are _very_ honored to have you in our home.”

I took her hand, brushing my lips over the back of her gloved hand.

I turned to the dark eyed beauty beside Margarita, clearly Elizabeth. “Elizabeth Schuyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel,” she said, looking up at me from under her long eyelashes.

I kissed the back of her hand, feeling her soft skin under my lips. I straightened my back, smiling at her.

When I turned to take an offered glass of scotch from Schuyler, I could see, from the corner of my eye, that Margarita whispered something to Elizabeth, causing color to shoot to her pale face.

Elizabeth swatted Margarita, surreptitiously glancing in my direction, interest very clear on her face. 

I could already tell that it was going to be an interesting night.

When we sat down for dinner, I sat down next to Elizabeth, who watched me from the corner of her eye.

“So, Colonel, what brings you to Albany?” Schuyler asked, taking a sip of his glass of red wine.

“I’m here to obtain more troops from General Gates.” Schuyler’s face darkened at the mention of General Gates, and I remembered that Gates had been involved in the Battle of Saratoga, the battle that caused Schuyler’s house to be burned down.

“He’s not making it easy,” I elaborated. Schuyler snorted, his good mood restored at the jab I took at Gates.

“So, Colonel, what is it like to be on General Washington's staff?” Elizabeth asked, looking at me. I turned in my seat to face her.

“There is always work to be done. It’s emotionally and physically taxing, but rewarding.” I was painting a romanticized picture of being on Washington's staff, but it wasn’t all bad. There was good.

I hated that the first thing that came to my mind of the good was Laurens.

Elizabeth hummed, taking a sip of her wine. “I can imagine,” she said.

I nodded and turned back to my chicken. I noticed that Margarita was looking between Elizabeth and I from where she was sitting at the other side of the table.

I blatantly ignored her.

On November ninth, I learned that Putnam’s two promised brigades had not yet been sent out because they hadn’t marched in around six to eight months and refused to.

Of course, I couldn’t be mad at Putnam, it wasn’t his fault. But that didn’t stop me from writing to him and demanding that he send his troops out.

And so, on the eleventh, I returned to Fishkill to scold Putnam, anger building within me. Unfortunately, my bad luck did not end there.

On the twelfth, I fell in with General Glover’s brigade, and I was forced to push on, despite the violent pains all over my body.

On the fifteenth, while staying a Dennis Kennedy’s house, at Gibbs’ insistence, I wrote to headquarters, informing them that there would be a delay in my return to camp and that Putnam’s troops should be arriving within the week, but some of them were without shoes, much like the rest of the army.

The next day I set off back to headquarters, arriving in Pomptown, New Jersey. Six days later, I arrived at Ramapaugh at Cacaat, which was about halfway to Morris Town. The next day, I took a Ferry at King’s Ferry.

On the twenty fourth, while Gibbs and I were riding our horses, I felt my head begin to spin, and when I opened my eyes, my vision was spotty.

“Gibbs,” I breathed. “I need you to catch me.”

Gibbs’ eyes widened in alarm. “Why?”

“Because I think I might faint.” 

I felt myself falling forward and my vision blacked out.

“He seems to have all the appearance of drawing nigh his last, being seized with a coldness in his extremities, and he remained so for a space of two hours, then survived.”

Excerpt of a letter from Caleb Gibbs to George Washington, 11/25/1777

I woke up in Dennis Kennedy’s house, my head spinning. I suddenly felt eleven again, my mother’s arms around me.

I had been ready to die then. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to die now. After all, there was nothing honorable about dying in a sick bed.

I breathed in. Everything from my waist down was cold. So, so cold. It was so different yet so similar to the illness I suffered before.

The illness that had killed my mother.

Was death finally coming for me? “Colonel, you’re awake!” Kennedy exclaimed, pressing a warm cloth to my forehead.

Only then did I realize that I was shaking with convulsions.

I closed my eyes again, feeling so incredibly tired. I wondered just how hard it would be to close my eyes and allow sleep to take me.

_I could see my mother, her beautiful smiling face fuzzy from so long of never having seen it._

_“Mama…” I reached out to her. My mother shook her head, looking sadly at me._

_“No, Alexandre. It’s not your time.” My mother cupped my cheek, kissing my temple, her lips cold against my warm skin._

_“Go to sleep,” she said._

_I did._

When I awoke again, I was alone in the second bedroom, my mother, Gibbs, or Kennedy nowhere to be seen.

But of course my mother wasn’t here.

She’d been dead for almost ten years. 

On the twenty seventh, I finally saw a doctor. He reported that I’d gone cold in all of my extremities and, when they fed me broth, I couldn’t keep it down.

On December fourth, my appetite recovered.

After another few weeks of recovering, I left to return to headquarters on December twenty third.

On January twentieth, seventeen seventy eight, I returned to headquarters in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. I would’ve arrived sooner, but Gibbs insisted that I not push myself to arrive quickly, lest I become ill again.

Upon my arrival in camp, I was first greeted by Tilghman and Meade, who were walking around camp. “Hammie!” Tilghman yelled, walking over to me and shaking my hand.

“It’s good to see you,” Meade cheered, patting my back. “Come, you have to come see everyone!”

Tilghman nodded. “Yes. Maybe then Laurens will stop moping around.”

I stopped in my tracks. _Laurens?_ “Laurens was moping? Why?” I asked, thankful my voice stayed level.

Tilghman and Meade exchanged looks. “We received very few letters on how you were faring. We thought you dead…”

I laughed. “I’ve been presumed dead twice now. Isn’t that funny?” I hummed as we approached the house in which the army was staying. 

Tilghman and Meade led Gibbs and I up the stairs to the aide’s room. “Guess who’s back?” Tilghman asked, gesturing to me.

Laurens stood up first, a big, bright grim adorning his handsome face. I waved sheepishly. Immediately, everyone flocked to me, wanting to touch some part of me or to shake my hand.

“Of course illness would not conquer our _petit lion,_ ” Lafayette giggled, shaking his head, his expression bright with mirth.

“Little lion?” I repeated, incredulous.

“It is good to have you back and in good health, Colonels,” Washington said, his hands laced together in front of his chest.

“Thank you, sir,” I replied, walking up to Washington and handing him the receipt of all of my expenses during my travels. 

Washington nodded, placing it on his desk. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” He waved, stepping out of the room.

As soon as he did, the room erupted into chaos once more. “We have to go out for drinks tonight,” Fitzgerald exclaimed, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

“I agree. I could use a drink,” I said. _Or seven._

I looked up to see that Laurens was still looking at me. His smile hadn’t faded at all. If anything, it was wider and more radiant than before.

When everyone dispersed back to their work, Laurens hesitantly walked up to me. “I’ll show you to the rooms.”

I nodded, following Laurens out of the room. Once we entered the aide’s room and the door was closed behind us, Laurens was holding me in his arms.

I clutched him back. As much as I hated it, I felt better with Laurens so close. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in deeply.

Laurens slowly pulled back, but he remained clutching my arms. I was probably imagining it, but it seemed to me that Laurens didn’t want to let go of me.

“Is this going to become a common occurrence with you?” Laurens asked. “Me thinking you are dead?”

I rolled my eyes, hesitantly placing my hand over Laurens’. “I don’t intend to die anytime soon.”

Laurens seemed relieved, resting his forehead against mine. “Alexander, you shouldn’t make promises you don’t mean to keep.”

I lightly poked John’s chest, but I remained pressing my forehead against his. 

And if I had to lean against John to maintain my balance so we were the same height, could I really be to blame?

That evening, after everyone updated me on what I had missed at camp— like Reed leaving for Congress— we arrived at the Black Powder Tavern near headquarters to drink. The whole time we walked there, Laurens clutched my arm, leaning against me.

I wondered what brought upon Laurens’ sudden bout of affection, but I wasn’t complaining.

As we sat down at the booths, Laurens moved away from me just a little, so we weren’t dipping into impropriety.

Despite the logic behind the decision, I wished I could feel the pressure of Laurens’ arm over mine again. I took a log sip of the drink provided by Fitzgerald.

As the evening slipped into night, Laurens, the rest of the aides, and I gradually got drunker and drunker until I was talking about my ‘adventures’ in Albany.

“I dined at Philip Schuyler’s,” I revealed, watching as everyone got wide eyed. “I met his two eldest daughters… one of them— I believe her name was Elizabeth— had the most _beautiful_ dark eyes.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Laurens stiffen.

“You met Angelica and Betsey?” Tilghman asked, suddenly looking very interested. “I met the eldest Schuyler sisters in late August of seventeen seventy five. Betsey does have the most beautiful dark eyes…” Tilghman sighed dreamily.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “No, I met Elizabeth and Margarita.”

Fitzgerald nodded. “Yes, the eldest daughter, Angelica, eloped with some British man— I think his name is John Carter— in June of last year.”

Everyone gasped. “Yes,” Fitzgerald said.

“But her father is part of our army…” Meade trailed off.

Fitzgerald rolled his eyes. “Astute observation. But Carter isn’t _fighting_ for the British. He’s just from there. He’s supplying supplies to our side.”

I shrugged. “Well I don’t care. Considering how beautiful Elizabeth was, I wonder how beautiful her elder sister must be…”

Laurens suddenly jumped up out of his seat, grabbing my arm and dragging me out of the tavern and into the nearby alleyway.

“Why did you come back to us if you are so enamored with _Elizabeth Schuyler?”_ Laurens snarled, glaring at me.

I glared right back at him. “I’m not enamored by her. I simply appreciate beauty. For example, you’re very handsome. It’s not a sin to appreciate beauty.”

Instead of Laurens becoming flustered like I expected, he groaned loudly, kicking the dirt. “You don’t understand—”

Laurens suddenly turned to me and pressed our lips together, his arms pressing me against the wall. 

I gasped when our lips made contact, but I pushed myself up against John, relishing the feeling of his lips against mine.

“Alexander,” John moaned into my mouth, pressing closer to me. I repeated the movement, trying to become as close as was possible to John.

I kissed John harder, opening my mouth slightly. I then felt something that was decidedly not John’s knee pressing against my thigh.

We finally pulled apart, still grasping each other like we were the only things keeping each other from falling over the edge, panting for breath.

I leaned my head against John’s chest, my chest heaving. John leaned down to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“You’re so beautiful, my dear boy,” John whispered, tipping my chin up and kissing me once more.

Unlike our previous kiss, which was hard and fierce, this one was slow and languid. I wrapped my arms around John’s waist, sighing contentedly into his mouth. 

I was kissing John Laurens.

_I was kissing John Laurens._

John abruptly pulled back from me, pressing a hand over his open mouth. I stumbled slightly and my eyes widened in shock. “What’s wrong?” I asked, reaching out to take John’s hand.

John stepped back. “I have to go.” 

I watched as he ran off. Once he was out of sight, I sagged against the wall, my chest heaving. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry or if I wanted to scream.

I didn’t know what I was feeling at all. All I could focus on was the memory of John’s mouth on mine.

A few days after I returned to camp, Tilghman and Fitzgerald caught me up on all that had happened in camp. 

Mainly, the so-called Conway Cabal.

The Conway Cabal, I learned, was a plot to replace Washington as Commander in Chief of the Continental Army with Hortario Gates.

On December sixth of the previous year, Washinton had received an anonymous letter from ‘a friend’, who sent Washington a letter from General Gates to Thomas Conway, quoting Conway’s less than kind comments about Washington.

I also learned that Gates had accused _me_ of stealing the letter and sending it to Washington while I was in Albany.

What he didn’t know was that I was on my presumed deathbed when it was extracted.

Instead of fighting it himself, Washington placed the matter before Congress. And, on January nineteenth, Conway and Gates left for Congress to clear their names.

“But the rub is, neither one will speak on the libel published against Washington,” Tilghman revealed, fiddling with his quill.

Right as I was about to respond, Lafayette— who had been talking quietly to Laurens in the corner— jumped up out of his seat, stomping out of the room.

“What happened?” Tilghman swirled around to face Laurens, who looked about as surprised as I felt by Lafayette’s outburst.

Laurens pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lafayette wanted an expedition into Canada. I told him that it was set to go out under Washington’s nose.” 

I hummed, gathering my papers. “That was rude, Laurens. You should’ve been more gentle.” Let Laurens take from that what he would.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have to go work on a letter to the committee.”

I found myself in the aide’s writing room all throughout the afternoon and early that night. I had a letter to a committee to be written, detailing our need for supplies, and I had only a few days to write it.

I was hunched over my notes, the pounding in my head becoming almost defending, when the door to the library opened.

“Hamilton,” Laurens addressed me, slowly walking over to me, his hands clasped behind his back. “May we talk?”

I remained staring at my notes. “I’m busy, Laurens.” Laurens exhaled loudly and my candle flickered. 

Laurens placed his palms on the table. “Please, I need to speak to you.”

I clenched my fists and looked up into Laurens’ desperate eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about. We were both drunk.”

Laurens shook his head. “Alexander, they say a drunk mind speaks a sober heart.” 

I rolled my eyes. Laurens crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t regret what I did.”

I snorted. “That’s rich.” I stood up and gathered my papers into a neat pile. “You can’t say that you don’t regret your decisions then run away the minute your mind catches up with you!”

Laurens grabbed my wrist. “ _Please,_ Alexander. You don’t even have to feel the same as I do. I just don’t want to lose your friendship.”

I jerked my arm out of Laurens’ grasp. “It’s a little too late for that.”

“Alexander—”

I opened my mouth to tell Laurens to go, when I suddenly felt lightheaded. I opened my mouth again, and Laurens’ confused face was the last thing I saw before I fell forward.

I awoke in a bed. I blinked slowly, registering my surroundings. Laurens was all I could register. “What…”

Laurens’ eyes shot up to mine and his face relaxed. “Hello, Alexander.”

I sat up— wincing as I did— and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “What happened?” 

“You fainted while we were… _talking_ in the library. You have a fever.” Laurens leaned over to press a wet cloth to my forehead.

“Why are you tending to me?” I asked, swatting Laurens’ hand away.

Laurens laughed softly. “Because I care about you and I hurt you. I want to make it right.”

I frowned. Laurens thought that he could make it right? He had ran away from me— when everyone I’d ever loved had ran away— just when I thought he wouldn’t.

“Go away,” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. Despite my limp arms, I forced myself to remain with my arms crossed. 

Laurens shook his head. “No. Think about it like this, then. The sooner you recover, the sooner you won’t have to see me.”

I huffed and Laurens smiled.

I hated that I thought that it was stunning.

_I could see my mother. I was back in St. Croix on that awful sick bed, my mother’s arms around me. “I’m so tired,” I whined, breathing in sharply._

_My mother ran a weak hand through my hair. “Hush, Alexandre. Sleep.” I did._

_When I opened my eyes, the hurricane was raging. But I wasn’t in the cellar of Kortright and Crueger. I was in the middle of town._

_I was in the eye of the hurricane._

_In the distance, I could see my brother, James, struggling against the current. “Alexandre! Alexandre! Help me!”_

_I tried to go to him, but I was unable to move. “I’m sorry, James, I’m sorry.” I had failed him. I had failed him. “James, I’m sorry… so sorry…”_

_Then, a voice. “Alexander, my dear, wake up. Alexander.” The voice quieted._

“Alexander!”

I woke up with Laurens’ face hovering over mine. When had he joined me in bed? “Mm, John,” I whispered, curling my body against his and lifting my weak arms over John’s waist.

I was so cold and he was so warm.   
  


When I opened my eyes, sunlight was shining through the windows and I was curled up next to a warm body.

I pulled myself tighter to the person. There was a hand running through my hair. I felt safe. I hadn’t felt this safe and at home since my mother had died.

“Good morning,” John said. My thoughts halted. Laurens?

The realization of what had happened came to me and I curled away, sitting up with my arms around my knees. Laurens looked almost sad.

“Where are we?” I asked. Laurens and I were the only ones in the room. 

“We’re in the guest bedroom on the second floor. The General acknowledged that it would be detrimental to your health to send you to a hospital. Especially with smallpox raging. I offered to watch over you.”

I glared at Laurens. “What about my work? What about the committee report?”

Laurens rolled his eyes at me. “You should not be working right now. As for the committee report, assuming you’ll be better in a few days, you’ll have time to finish it.”

The door opened and Laurens’ slave, Shrewsberry, entered the room, balancing a tray of tea and bread. He set it down on mine and Laurens’ laps.

Shrewsberry bowed his head and scurried out of the room.

As he did, Laurens’ eyes widened and he turned to me excitedly. “While you were gone, I began outlining a plan.”

I tilted my head to the side. “For what exactly?”

Laurens sat up straighter and took a bite of bread. “A black battalion.” At my shocked expression, Laurens continued. “A corps of such men trained, uniformly clad, equipped, and ready in every respect to act at the opening of the next campaign.”

I nodded contemplatively. “That is very progressive. But do you think Congress will approve of it?” I certainly couldn’t imagine them doing so.

Laurens shrugged. “The ridicule that may be thrown on the color, I despise, because I am sure of rendering essential service to my country. But I do admit that you are correct. I will just have to convince them.”

“That’s admirable,” I said under my breath. Laurens was nearly beaming when I turned to look up at him.

Later that night, while Laurens was writing, I finally spoke up. “Why did you run?” I asked.

Laurens startled. He gently set down his quill and his eyes dropped to his lap. “Answer me, Laurens. You owe me that, at the very least.”

“John,” Laurens whispered.

“What?” 

“Call me John,” Laurens said softly. He ran a hand through his shoulder length blonde hair. “I had a friend named Francis, while I was in Europe.”

My eyebrows knitted together. “What relevance does that have to the conversation we— well _I—_ am trying to have.”

Laurens held up a hand, silencing me. “I thought I loved him. We were… intimate together.” I stilled tapping my fingers against my knee. “It ruined things between us. Now we don’t speak.”

Laurens looked at me with wide eyes. “Not that I care! In retrospect, he was awful. I’ve long since burned that bridge. But he was the first man I ever loved. In that way, anyway.

“I hated that I wanted you. That first night, I thought that you were flirting. I was relieved when you left because it stopped me from making the same mistakes I made with Francis. But I realized the next day that, even if I couldn’t do what I wanted to you, I could befriend you. As you probably know, you’re not easy to befriend.”

I snorted. Laurens continued to speak.

“I told myself we would only be friends. But when you began to speak of Miss Schuyler, I…” Laurens’ face took on a pinched expression. “I realized I had failed. I was too drunk to be logical about kissing you, but once my mind caught up with me, I panicked.”

I opened my mouth to tell John that him panicking didn’t excuse his behavior, but he cut me off. “I know it doesn’t make it right, because you’re not Francis and I’m not the same man I was when I fell for him.”

John breathed in deeply. “Have you any other secrets?” I asked. 

John bit his lip and shook his head. “Nothing else.”

I nodded, my thoughts running wild. John cared for me. He wanted me as I wanted him. I exhaled through my nose. “Goodnight, John.” I turned over and went to sleep.

The next morning, John wasn’t in the room. I wasn’t sure whether I should’ve been relieved or disappointed.

With him gone, I could finally weigh my options on what to do.

John had been intimate with a man before. He cared for me in a way not strictly confined to friendship. He wanted me.

I sighed loudly, running my hands over my face. 

I cared for John. It had hurt more than I’d thought it would when he had ran off the previous week. I cared for him too much to lose him, and I wanted him as well.

I turned to look at the bedside table where there was a stack of books. Atop of them was a note.

_I left to work today as you seemed much better. I trust you don’t need constant surveillance. I should return by nightfall. I left you a few books to read. As reading isn’t too strenuous, I shan’t stop you._

_Yours most amiably,_

_John Laurens_

I sighed, reaching over with a wince and grabbing the _Iliad._

I began to read.

By nightfall, when John was supposed to return, I had reached Patroclus’ death and Achilles’ subsequent rage. 

John stepped inside the room, looking alarmed. “Ah, the _Iliad,”_ John said, walking over to the desk and taking his boots off, followed by his cravat.

My eyes focused on the curve of John’s neck. “Yes. I’ve reached Patroclus’ death. I wonder which of us would be who.”

John turned to me, suddenly serious. “Don’t say things like that. You will not be my Patroclus. Promise me that.”

I shook my head. “John, everyone I’ve ever loved has died or left. Believe me, I won’t be Patroclus. But I wouldn’t want you to die.”

John flushed pink.

Once John had undressed, he cautiously crawled into bed beside me. I intertwined our fingers and curled myself into John’s chest.

John made a mewling sound and I brushed my lips over his palm. “Goodnight, John.”

John kissed the top of my head in response, resting his chin atop my head.

And, just as I had started to fall asleep, I swore that I heard John whisper, “Goodnight, my dear boy.”

I recovered and began working normally again on February second, the day after Martha Washington arrived at camp.

I wasn’t sure if anyone noticed, but something had shifted between John and I. Our cautious relationship has morphed into something gentler. We sat next to each other, smiled at each other, and our fingers brushed each other’s more often than before.

Lafayette clearly noticed _something,_ as he kept giving John and I smug looks.

After Martha Washington’s arrival, the aide’s bedroom was transformed into Mrs. Washington’s sitting room for guests, and we were transferred to huts in the back of the house.

Typically, the huts housed twelve to fourteen men, but because we were higher ranked officers, it was decided that for each hut, there would be two officers.

And John and I were put together.

On February twenty second, in celebration of Washington’s Birthday, the army had arranged for drummers and salutes of artillery.

Much like how Britain celebrated King George’s birthday.

John and I watched the group of players. People watched, but Washington himself did not. In the aftermath of the Conway Cabal, people— mostly the Whigs— were trying to frame him as a despot.

He couldn’t exactly go out and think the performers without looking _exactly_ like what the Whigs were trying to portray him as.

“What do you think he will do?” I asked John quietly, grasping his arm.

“I don’t know,” John replied, just as Martha Washington exited the house, holding a little handkerchief with coins in it. She walked up to the men and handed it to them.

The next day, Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben arrived in camp. On February twenty fourth, the day after Steuben had arrived, Washington brought us— the aides— to meet Steuben outside of camp.

He was brought to help train our army. After a man named Gouverneur Morris had arrived in camp and seen our lack of provisions and promised to do what he could, the army was into the next issue: the fact that we _desperately_ needed discipline if we were to win this war.

“Major General Baron Von Steuben,” Washington said stiffly, shaking his hand.

Steuben nodded, jovially shaking Washington’s hand in return. _“Merci de m'avoir ici. Vous avez ma gratitude.”_

Washington looked to me to translate the French. “He thanks you for having him here, and he says you have his gratitude,” I muttered to Washington.

“We are pleased to have you here as well,” Washington answered, but I could tell that it wasn’t exactly true. Because Steuben had had contact with General Gates in York, Washington was wary of trusting him.

I translated what Washington had said for the Baron.

That night, while I was undressing, I decided to ask John’s opinion. “Do you think Steuben is trustworthy?” I asked.

John shrugged. “I think time will tell.”

I lightly shoved John. John caught my wrist and kissed the inside of it, causing my heart to flutter at the contact.

I cautiously leaned my head against John’s chest. 

“You’re so pretty,” John mumbled into my hair, pressing kisses onto my curls. I squeezed his hand and everything felt okay.

On February twenty seventh, Ensign Anthony Maxwell charged Lieutenant Enslin with attempting to commit sodomy with a Private.

John, who was sitting beside me, moved away from me a fraction of an inch at the news. I blinked. “Is there proof?” I asked.

Tilghman sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes. “Enslin profusely denied it.”

“What sane person wouldn’t?” I muttered. Luckily, no one but John seemed to hear me.

“He’s taking Maxwell to a court martial,” Tilghman finished, leaning against the wall.

“Is it true?” I asked, tapping my fingers against my thigh. From under the table, John slapped his hand over mine, stopping my fidgeting.

I pulled my hand away.

“Why else would Maxwell charge him?” Meade pointed out, waving out the window. “Isn’t this a mess?” He laughed dryly.

I looked down at my notes and at then John.

On March second, Congress officially cancelled Lafayette’s expedition into Canada. The next day brought something much more important, however: Aaron Burr.

“Major Burr,” I said upon Burr’s entrance into the aide’s room. I stood up and walked over to take his hand.

“I take it you’re doing well since our last meeting?” Burr asked, his back straight. 

I laughed. “You could say so. May I lead you to the General’s office?” I offered.

Burr nodded. “I’d be honored, Colonel Hamilton.”

Once we were out of the room, I pulled Burr aside. “Why are you here?”

Burr sighed. “You’re not one for niceties, are you?” At my expectant expression, Burr continued. “I’m here to consult the General on what to do about Enslin.”

My blood ran cold. “The accusations are true— not perjuries?” 

Burr nodded. “Yes. Now, will you lead me to the General’s office?” I gestured to the door next to where I’d pulled Burr aside. 

Burr nodded and rapped on the door before entering the room, not sparing a single glance in my direction. 

I rested my head against the wall of the hallway, breathing in shallowly.

I entered the aide’s room once I’d caught my breath. “Why is Burr here?” John asked. Everyone else nodded.

“He is here to consult Washington on what to do about Enslin. The charges are true.” Everyone’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” Gibbs said softly, echoing everyone’s thoughts.

“At a Brigade Court Martial whereof Coll Burr was President (Feby 27th 1778,) Ensign Maxwell of Coll Malcom’s Regiment tried for propagating a scandalous report prejudicial to the character of Lieutt Enslin—The Court after maturely deliberating upon the Evidence produced could not find that Ensign Maxwell had published any report prejudicial to the Character of Lieutt Enslin further than the strict line of his duty required and do therefore acquit him of the Charge.”

Excerpt of the General’s orders, 03/04/1778

That night, as I was undressing, John spoke up from where he’d been staring at the floor. “You haven’t kissed me since the first time.”

I sighed, rolling my shoulders. “Acute observation.”

John stood up, placing his hands on my hips. “You’ve given me signs that you want me. I told you I wanted you. But I need to know: do you want me?”

“Yes,” I breathed, before I could think to redirect the conversation. 

“Then let me kiss you,” John requested, leaning down to press his hand against my cheek. “Please.”

“Kiss me,” I echoed John. John surged down and kissed me, pressing me against the wall, his hands running up and down my back.

I pushed back, running my hands under John’s shirt. He let out something like a growl, turning me around and pushing me onto the bed.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, my back arching as John’s lips reached my neck. John’s lips felt _so_ different from Kitty Livingston, or even Mary, and I wanted more.

I bit John’s lip and his grip on my hip tightened. John slowly pulled back, untying my hair. “I don’t think I say it enough. You are so beautiful. The stuff of myths.”

I turned pink, kissing John softly. When John moved downwards, I gently stopped him, pulling him up to kiss me again. 

Thankfully, John understood the silent cue and adjusted his hands upwards so they was resting on my chest.

When we pulled away for air, I ran my fingers over John’s cheek, causing John to grab my wrist and kiss the tips of my fingers.

I leaned upwards to press our lips together once more.

Kissing John felt like absolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next chapter should be up in a few days at the most. Anyways, a few notes:  
> 1\. Yes, the story about General Howe’s dog is true. There actually a book written about it, so that’s fun.  
> 2\. The letter from Hamilton to Gates is HILARIOUS. You should read it. It’s so petty yet still so polite. It’s one of my favorite Hamilton letters.  
> 3\. We don’t know exactly when Eliza and Hamilton met, whether is was in November 1777 or in February 1780 as there is circumstantial evidence for the November 1777 date. All we know is that they definitely met in February 1780. As you can tell, I decided to go with the November 1777 date.  
> 4\. We don’t know if Hamilton actually got sick a second time, but in the two weeks after his return, he’d only written two letters, and Laurens also wrote irregularly, indicating that Laurens might’ve been taking care of him.  
> 5\. Laurens’ quotes about his black battalion are actually from a letter to his father, where he first outlined his idea.  
> 6\. We don’t know if Hamilton and Laurens actually shared a hut, but based on the historic furnishing’s report on the house at Valley Forge, the aide’s room might’ve ended up Martha Washinton’s room. And, because the aides were officers, they would’ve likely had less people to a hut then, say, the Privates. I saw my chance and I took it.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day.
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March 15, 1778-December 1779

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> French Translation:  
> “My love, my heart, please don't leave me.”
> 
> Also: PLEASE NOTICE THE CHANGE IN RATING!!! If you’d like to skip it, skip from “John didn’t have to be told twice...” to the paragraph break.

_March 15, 1778, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania_

On the morning of March fifteenth, the entire army crowded together in the middle of camp and on an edge overlooking the Schuylkill River, with fife and drums playing as a terrifying cadence.

John, the aides, and I all stand together, our backs straight and our hands clasping our horse’s reins.

 _Breathe,_ I reminded myself, but I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a terrifying premonition of what was to come if John and I continued as we were.

Beside me, I could see John glance at me. I wondered if he had the same thoughts going through his head as I did.

The drums slowed their horrifying cadence and I turned to the right, where Enslin was standing, the perfect picture of fear of his tear stained face.

I steeled my face into a picture of disinterest. The drums banged and banged and I wondered if I might faint.

Burr was at the head of the procession. Everyone stopped and I realized that Enslin’s hands were shackled as if he was some common criminal.

The men grab his sleeves and turn his coat inside out, shoving him harshly to the muddy floor.

I can understand why they’re doing this. They’re making an example of Enslin, ensuring that other men don’t act on their baser inclinations. 

But it still feels wrong.

Enslin was still sobbing when they pulled him up onto a cart, displaying his pain and shame for all to see. I adjusted on my horse.

Despite the dreadfulness of the scene, I couldn't tear my eyes away from Enslin. I wondered if it would’ve been easier just to hang Enslin.

Now, he’d be condemned to live the rest of his life in infamy. At least, if he were dead, he’d never know.

Colonel Marshall cleared his throat, declaring the sentence, despite all of us watching. “Lieutenant Enslin of is tried for attempting to commit sodomy with John Monhort, a soldier. Secondly, for Perjury in swearing to false accounts, is found guilty of the charges exhibited against him, being breaches of fifth Article, eighteenth Section of the Articles of War, do sentence him to be dismissed from the service with Infamy. His Excellency, the Commander in Chief, approves of the sentence and with abhorrence and detestation of such infamous crimes, orders Lieutenant Enslin to be drummed out of Camp, never to return.”

The drums carried up again. From the corner of my eye, I could see John’s gaze drop down to his feet. 

I watched as Enslin’s own sword was raised over the leg of the man holding it and snapped with a sickening ring, which reverbated all around the camp.

Everyone was utterly silent. I turned away to go and find Colonel Marshall. After all, someone had to collect the records of the event.

Once I had passed the papers along to Washington, I stood, shock still, in the aide’s room with the rest of the aides.

Not one of us spoke.

“What a show,” Reed finally said, breaking the silence. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 

“What do you think will happen to the Private he…” Meade waved his hand in the air. I shrugged, dropping down in my seat next to John.

“Do you think there are others like them in camp?” Tilghman asked, his lip curled in disgust. I stilled my tapping foot.

“Well, if there are, they will probably be much more careful,” I said, causing everyone to nod in agreement. 

“I this morning proceeded to the grand parade, where I was a spectator to the drumming out of Lieut. Enslin of Col. Malcom’s regiment. He was first drum’d from right to left of the parade, thence to the left wing of the army; from that to the centre, and lastly transported over the Schuylkill with orders never to be seen in Camp in the future. This shocking scene was performed by all the drums and fifes in the army–the coat of the delinquent was turned wrong side out.”

Excerpt of Lieutenant James McMichael’s diary, 03/15/1778

That night, John and I sat together in our cabin, utterly quiet, neither of us moving. “That was barbaric,” John said, jumping up and throwing his coat against the wall.

“Calm down, John,” I advised quietly, but everything felt very distant. If— God forbid— John and I were caught, could I trust John to go down with me?

Probably not. 

Henry Laurens would fight that fight tooth and nail, if only to maintain his family’s pristine reputation. And I had no one to fight for me.

“Alexander!” John yelled, suddenly right in front of me and holding my face between his hands. “Did you hear me?”

“Kiss me,” was all I said, wrapping my arms around John’s neck and practically throwing myself at him. John gasped into my mouth and gently pushed me off of him.

“What are you doing? Why are you doing this?” John held my arms tightly, his face painting a perfect picture of confusion.

“John, after what we saw today…” John winced and I pulled him towards me. “I’ve wanted you since I saw you, and I know you want me. And I’m _so tired_ of always doing the logical thing. We don’t know when our next battle could be or what will happen. So kiss me. _Please.”_

John didn’t have to be told twice, kissing me harshly and wrapping his arms around my waist. I pulled him backwards onto the bed.

I giggled and John pressed our hips together. I gasped and John smirked. “You sound—” John didn’t get the chance to finish his thought as I leaned down to press my lips against his Adam’s apple, sucking down hard.

“That’s going to leave a mark,” John mumbled, but he didn’t seem too bothered.

“Isn’t it lucky that you wear a cravat?” I asked. John rolled his eyes, pressing our lips together again, his fingers fiddling with the ribbon keeping my hair in a braid.

“Stand up,” John muttered and I did. Once he untied my hair, running his fingers through it, we undressed.

The whole time, anticipation built in me, hot and steady. The minute I finally took off my pants, John grabbed my hips and pressed his hips against mine.

I hissed, burying my face in John’s scarred shoulder, a result of his recklessness at Germantown. 

John pushed me against the bed, kissing everywhere he could see. All the while, I could hear myself babbling, but I had no idea of what I might be saying. The only thought I could hold onto was _John, John, John._

John finally kissed me again. He tasted like whiskey, mint, and something that I could only imagine is just incredibly _John._

And it was utterly _intoxicating._

And, when John looked into my eyes, I didn’t even have the mind to be frightened. “Do you want me to…” John tapped his fingers against my hip, what he’s implying painfully clear.

I want to tell him that I’ve never wanted anything more. I want to tell him how he’s making me unsure of everything I thought I knew. I want to tell him that he makes it feel like everything I’ve been through— all of the pain, suffering, and loss— was all worth it, if only I ended up here at the end of the day.

Instead, I kiss him and whisper, “yes.”

John doesn’t waste any time. He dips his fingers down and gently spreads my legs apart. I rest my head against his chest as he strokes me, breathing heavily.

It’s not the smoothest foreplay I’ve ever experienced by far. We fumble, I bite and nip skin, and John jerks his hand in not always pleasant ways, but it somehow feels _more_ than any other time I’d experienced.

When John finally takes his hand off of my member, he slowly climbs fully on top of me, interlacing our fingers.

John cautiously positioned himself from between my legs, looking at me for permission. “Please, John,” I begged.

John nodded.

When he pushed in slightly, I gasped, tightening my hold on John’s hand. “I’m here, Alex _, mon chéri,_ I’m here.”

He fully pushed in and I let out something between a contented sigh and a groan. John kissed me when he first thrusted, my moan and John’s guttural growl absorbed into each other’s lips.

John slowly placed his hand on my member, running his hand up and down the shaft. I buried my face in John’s shoulder as his thrusts sped up and his breathing became more rushed.

“Oh, John,” I whispered, biting his shoulder to keep from crying out. John jerked me faster and I began to babble. 

“Oh, John, John, John, John, you’re the best person I know, you mean so much to me— John, John, _mon amour, mon coeur, s’il te plait ne me quitte pas,_ I couldn’t take it—”

John kissed me, cutting me off as I came down from my high with a twitch. I arched my back to feel closer to John. “Oh God, Alex,” John gasped. “I’m so glad I met you, you’re beautiful, my dear boy, how I love you—”

John groaned, his body slumping against mine. For a long moment, there was silence. We simply panted against each other.

I leaned up to kiss John’s neck as he extricated himself from inside of me. “Thank you,” I mumbled. 

John shrugged, tucking my hair behind my ear. “My dear boy, you’re so beautiful.”

I could feel myself blushing scarlet, and, in John’s arms, I didn’t have the mind to realize that I’d laid myself almost completely bare for him.

When I woke up in the morning, John’s arms limp around me, I had the horrifying realization of what I’d done.

What _we’d_ done. 

I’d laid myself bare for John. Someone who could leave me at any minute. And, as I rubbed my eyes, half wishing I’d wake up alone, I recalled John’s words.

_My dear boy, how I love you…_

John loved me. The worst part was that I wanted to hear him say it more often. I wanted to hear those words in his rough tenor again.

I slowly peeled John’s arms off of me and hurried to the dresser across the room, where a basin of cool water sat.

I pointedly avoided looking in the mirror above the dresser. I didn’t want to see more evidence of my folly. 

I hurried out of the room, hopefully early enough for training. I needed to _not think_ for an hour and distract myself with physical exercise.

Laurens and Tilghman were the only ones in the aide’s room when I entered, having cleaned myself up after running.

Laurens’ eyes quickly flew to me. I ignored him, sitting down. “So, Hammie, want to play a game?” Tilghman asked, winking at me.

“And what game is that?” I raised my eyebrows at Tilghman.

Tilghman grinned, showing me the mark on Laurens’ neck. The mark that I’d made. “I’m trying, in vain, so far, to figure out who Laurens went out with last night. You two share a hut: do you have any idea who it was?”

_Oh, a few._

I shrugged. “No. I don’t. I can’t help you. I fell asleep very early last night. I didn’t see Laurens.”

Tilghman groaned, slamming the palms of his hands on the table. “Damnit!” He grabbed Laurens’ arm. “Laurens, buddy, please? Can I have a hint?”

Laurens shook his head, his face still trained on me. “I’m not telling you, Tilghman.”

“Telling him what?” Lafayette asked, entering the room, a wide smile on his face. “Do tell.”

Tilghman grinned. “Laurens has a bruise on his neck. He won’t tell us what _lovely_ lady gave it to him.”

Lafayette’s mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape, and he clapped gleefully. “Oh, you must tell us, _Jean!”_ Lafayette’s eyes suddenly widened and he turned to look at me. “Unless…”

He gasped, placing a gloved hand over his mouth. “John, did you…” John flushed and Tilghman groaned incredulously.

“Alright, I’m going to go, I’ll be back soon.” He threw his hands into the air and walked out of the room. 

The room immediately turned into chaos.

“Oh, John! You and _Alexandre!_ I’m so happy for you!”

“Why did you leave?”

Lafayette gasped, looking between John and I. “You left him when the sun rose?” He shook his head. “Alexander, that was rude.”

I glared at both of them, my hands curled into fists. “It was a _mistake._ A lapse of judgement. It won’t happen again. Now, please, leave me be.” And, with nowhere else to go, I sat down and began to write.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Laurens didn’t understand what ‘leave me be’ meant, as, the minute the office was empty later that night, he walked up to me.

“It wasn’t a lapse in judgement and you know it,” he snapped, pulling a chair up right beside me and sitting beside me. “You told me yourself: you care about me. So why did you leave?”

I breathed in sharply. “You told me you loved me. For me, people loving me had never ended in anything but anguish. It has always been my desire, ever since my mother died, to preserve myself free from particular attachments and to keep my happiness independent of the caprice of others.”

John nodded, taking my hand. “I understand that. After Francis, I— I swore I’d never allow myself to be vulnerable. But I do love you. So much.”

Despite how illogical it was, I threw myself at John, pressing our lips together. I hoped the feeling of my lips against John’s said all that I couldn’t.

On March seventeenth, Washington ordered that Steuben began training soldiers for a “model company.”

To celebrate, a few days later, Steuben invited many officers, including Washington and the aides, to a party with only one rule: that anyone who attended must have a rip in their clothes.

“I can’t believe this,” John mumbled, looking at his breeches, where I had snipped the fabric. “So improper!”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a _party,_ not a ball. It needn’t be proper.” I walked up to John and ran my hands over his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re a prude.”

John glared at me, but there was no heat behind it. “Don’t begin something you can’t finish.” He leaned down, almost touching my lips, when there was a knock at the door. 

John and I jumped apart. As John smoothed his coat, I hurried to the door, revealing Lafayette. “I came to fetch you two! Come, come!” Lafayette’s eyes then narrowed. “Unless I’m interrupting something…”

I shook my head. “Let’s go.” 

John laughed, intertwining our arms. “Let’s.”

The party was in full swing when John, Lafayette, and I entered. People were drinking, dancing, and smoking, the noise level was incredibly high.

“I’ll go get drinks,” I yelled over the noise, hurrying off to a servant and grabbing two glasses of spirits. When I returned, Lafayette was gone. In his place was a thin man with wire rimmed glasses.

“Ah, Colonel Hamilton!” he cried, walking over to me and shaking my hands. “Laurens here was telling me about you.” John flushed and I winked at him.

“I brought drinks.” I handed John one, my fingers brushing John’s in the transfer. Right as we were about to drink, the man shook his head, grabbing our drinks.

“I will be back in a moment.” He walked away. I turned to John, who looked as surprised as I was.

“He’s… interesting.” John laughed, walking up to me and innocently pressing our shoulders together. 

“So, John, you were talking about me?” I asked, brushing my knuckles against John’s. John turned pink again.

“I always want to talk about you,” John whispered. 

“Don’t begin something you can’t finish,” I parroted, just as the man returned to us with our glasses. 

Which were now on fire.

“Why are our drinks on fire?” I asked, cautiously taking the glass.

“It’s part of the party!” the man exclaimed, clearly already somewhat drunk. “Drink it— fire and all.”

John and I exchanged looks. John chugged his drink first. I followed once John was, clearly, alright.

A few hours later, John and I were stumbling back to our hut, somewhat drunk and laughing wildly. We weren’t as drunk as some of the other people at the party, but we weren’t perfectly sober, either.

“You’re…” John turned to me, cupping my cheek with a gentle hand. “You’re the stuff of myths.” 

I grabbed John’s hand and dragged him to our hut, kissing him as rough as I dared. John kissed me back and I wrapped my legs around his waist, allowing John to carry me to the bed.

An hour or so later, while I was enveloped in John’s arms as he traced lines and curves onto my arm, the peaceful silence we’d fallen into was broken.

“Alex,” John said softly, looking down at me. “You trust me, right?”

And wasn’t that the question I’d contemplated for so long myself? I gulped and nodded. As much as I hated it, I _did_ trust John.

John nodded, taking my hand. “Tell me about your childhood.”

I froze. Everything suddenly felt much too small. “John, there’s not much to tell.”

John shrugged. “I don’t care. I love you, and I want to know everything about you. If there really is nothing to tell, then why won’t you tell me?”

I curled away from John, wrapping my arms around my knees. “You won’t like it.”

John shrugged. “Tell me.”

And so I did. I told him of my mother’s awful first husband, and how their marriage had ended in acrimony. I told him if my brother and I’s illegitimacy. I told him of my father’s departure, of my mother’s illness, of Peter, of James’ leaving, of the hurricane, of everything I’d gone through, of all things that I’d faced.

When I was done, I didn’t realize that I’d started crying until John wiped away my tears with his thumb. “None of what you’ve told me changes how I feel for you. None at all,” he said, pulling me to him

I let out a pathetic sob and, instead of fighting it, I just let John hold me as I cried. I had laid myself completely bare for him.

And John still loved me.

On March twenty fourth, Steuben finished training his “model company”, allowing the men he trained to go off and train their own officers.

Four days later, I found myself walking out of Washington's office to the aide’s room, incredibly giddy.

“Why are you smiling?” Gibbs asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“The General has ordered me and a few other men to go and execute a prisoner exchange— Major General Charles Lee for Major General Prescot,” I said. I turned to John. “Laurens, I need to write a letter from the General to the men and I who will be executing the prisoner exchange. Will you help me write it?”

John nodded, sitting down beside me and picking up his quill.

“With them to confer, determine and agree upon a Treaty and Convention for the Exchange of Prisoners of War, and for all matters whatsoever, which may be properly contained therein, on principles of justice, humanity and mutual advantage, and agreeable to the customary rules and practice of war among civilized nations: For all which, this shall be your sufficient warrant, and your engagements being mutually interchanged, shall be ratified and confirmed by me.”

Excerpt of a commission from George Washington, written by Alexander Hamilton and signed by John Laurens, to Alexander Hamilton and others, 03/28/1778

A few days later, the men and I— one of the men was Elias Boudinot, whom I hadn’t seen in quite some time— were set to leave.

As I packed my bag, John paced. “John, it’s for the cause. We’re under the flag of truce.”

John nodded, taking my hands. “I know. I’d do the same for the cause myself. I just ask that you be safe.” John squeezed my hands.

“I will,” I answered, leaning up on the tips of my toes to brush my lips against John’s. 

“I…” _I love you. More than you can comprehend,_ I thought. I wanted to say it, but the words seemed trapped behind my lips. 

The irony was not lost on me. Alexander Hamilton being unable to speak. 

Instead of speaking, I kissed John.

On April first, we received a letter from Philadelphia, penned by Charles O'Hara, Humphrey Stephens, and Captain Fitzpatrick, asking the commissioners and I to remain in Germantown until at least ten that night so we could speak.

We did.

A few days later, on the fifth, Congress gave me a pass to cross into the enemy’s lines. 

And, a week or so after that, Charles Lee and others were successfully exchanged.

On June twenty eighth, seventeen seventy eight, we entered our next large battle, which would take place at the Monmouth Courthouse in New Jersey.

The plan was for General Lee to make a stab at the British’s flank, causing confusion, which would allow for Washington to attack them with a larger force.

Unfortunately, much like at Brandywine and Germantown, Mother Nature was not on our side. 

It was sweltering. The temperatures reached the nineties, and many of the soldiers were riding without shirts, in an effort to stay cool.

While we were riding, I sat on my horse next to John, who was about to go and fight. As much as I longed to be in his position myself, I couldn’t help my worry for him.

“I will be alright,” John murmured to me, patting my leg and resting his hand there for just a fraction of a second longer than he should have. “I’ll be safe.”

“Return to me.” I wished, in that moment, that I could kiss him. I breathed in deeply. Better now than never. “I love you,” I whispered, just low enough for John— but no one else— to hear.

John’s eyes widened. Before he could answer me, he was forced to ride off. I watched him go, clutching my reins.

John would likely survive, if he didn’t allow his recklessness to best him.

Later in the morning, we heard small arms fire. Washington ordered me to go and see what it was. To check on Lee, in particular.

As I rode up to Lee, I noticed that his men were setting up the artillery, as they should, but at an odd angle, facing towards the enemy.

I rode forward. What I saw shocked me.

Lee was _retreating._ I balked, slapping the reins on my horse and hurrying up to Lee, anger burning inside of me, red hot.

Washington knew nothing of this, and I could only imagine how angry he’d be once he caught word of this.

I finally reached Lee’s side. “Sir, what is the mending of this?” I bellowed, pulling to a stop. “This was not our plan!”

Lee turned to look at me. “Why are you here, Colonel?” he asked.

I huffed loudly. “General Washington sent me to scoot your movement. So, again, I ask you, what is the meaning of this?”

“We won’t withstand the British’s bayonets!” 

I rolled my eyes, beyond caring if Lee happened to think I was rude. “But we will never know if we don’t try! I will stay here with you, my dear General, and die with you! Let us all rather die than retreat.”

I glanced around, noticing that the enemy was diverting to the left, as if ready to try something with Lee’s troops. 

I turned to address Lee. “Sir, I prevail upon you to fetch the Marquis de Lafayette! He could rally the men!”

Lee sighed, nodding, and I left, still fuming, to fetch Lafayette.

Some time after that, we received a message from Lafayette. Lee was _still_ retreating and some of his troops had already crossed the ravine.

I didn’t have to look at Washington to know that he was likely furious at Lee’s insubordination. Unfortunately, James McHenry, a new aide who’d been appointed on May fifteenth, did not.

“Sir?” he asked.

The stone mask that was usually Washington’s face, had cracked, revealing all of the fury inside. “That damned fool!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, rendering all of us quiet.

“Go!” Washington yelled, slapping the reins of his horse. I followed after him.

When we reached Lee, I fell into his troops, watching as Washington stopped his horse right in front of Lee. “I desire to know, sir, what is the reason— whence arises this disorder and confusion?”

Lee’s jaw dropped. “Sir, the American troops would not withstand the British bayonets.”

If anything, Lee’s words seemed to serve only to make Washington madder. Washington, like me, seemed to realize the incompetence of Lee’s actions.

“You damned poltroon,” Washington bellowed, his own rule against cursing forgotten. “You never tried them!”

After a long moment, Washington began to ride. I hurried up beside him, Lee and his men following. “Hamilton, where are the British?”

I bit my lip. “They can’t be more than a mile away, Your Excellency, at the very least.”

Washington balled his hands into fists and turned around to address the men. “Stand fast, my boys, and receive your enemy!”

We soon began to reimplement the very moves that Lee had tried to execute, with Lee himself sentenced to the rear.

As I was riding my horse, I noticed one brigade still in retreat, their artillery in a very advantageous position. Of course it wouldn’t matter how well it was placed if there was no one there to defend it.

“Sir!” I cried, riding up to the brigade. “What are you doing?” 

“We’re going,” the man replied. I sighed, my gaze flitting to the artillery.

“Line up,” I ordered, snapping my fingers in the direction of the artillery. The men obeyed, lining up. “Load your bayonets.”

The men did as I asked, loading their bayonets in a line. Once everyone stood up straight, I raised my sword high in the air. “Charge!”

I watched as the men charged, relieved, when my horse suddenly whinnied loudly, bucking, throwing me backwards.

“Shit!” I slammed, knees first, into the floor, my sword and pistol landing about a foot from me. I grabbed my sword, placing my pistol back into my holster.

Despite how desperate I was for battle, I felt almost relieved at being able to leave the field.

Once the battle was over, John dragged me away to an area covered by brush, pulling me to him by my collar, our lips pressing together.

I kissed back as fiercely, immensely relieved that both John and I had survived the battle with no injuries, excluding heat sickness.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” John prattled on, punctuating each declaration of love with a kiss.

I grabbed John’s wrists. “I love you too.”

And I meant it with every fiber in my body.

On the fourth of July, seventeen seventy eight, the court martial against Charles Lee, investigating his conduct at Monmouth, began.

I was called to the stand that day. After being sworn in, the first question was asked by the prosecutor’s attorney.

“Did you deliver General Lee any orders from General Washington the twenty seventh or twenty eighth of June, respecting his attacking the enemy?”

I nodded my head, clearing my throat. “I wrote General Lee a letter the evening of the twenty seventh of June by General Washington’s order, a copy of which I have not, but it was conceived in the spirit, as I understood, of former orders that had been given by him to General Lee, and was occasioned by an apprehension, as declared to me by General Washington, that the enemy might move off either at night or very early in the morning and get out of our reach, so that the purpose of an attack might be frustrated.” And so on I went, derailing the intimate details of what the letter contained.

The prosecutor’s attorney nodded, and I watched as the jury made notes. 

Lee spoke up. “What hour was the letter sent off to me?”

“It was rather late in the evening. I went to bed soon after.” In retrospect, I wished that I’d bothered to check the clock after I wrote the letter.

After that, I listened as others confirmed my words.

I was called to the stand again. “Did you conceive General Washington’s orders, or the spirit of them, to General Lee, were to attack the enemy at all events?”

I shook my head. _Damn Lee._ “I do not. I can’t conceive that General Washington could mean to give orders so extremely positive, but that circumstances, which had been unforeseen, might arise, to leave the officer, who had the execution of them, liberty to deviate, but, from everything I knew of the affair, General Washington’s intention was fully to have the enemy attacked on their march, and that the circumstances must be very extraordinary and unforeseen, which, consistent with his wish, could justify the not doing it.”

Lee nodded, his face looking pinched. “Did you, either by letter to me, or in conversation with me, communicate this idea of General Washington’s intention as fully and clearly as you have done it to the Court?”

“I do not recollect that I ever did.”

Lee nodded. The scratching of quills was all I could hear before Lee asked me another question. “Was your idea of General Washington’s intention that I should attack the enemy, had I found them in the situation which General Dickinson’s intelligence assured me they were; that is, the whole arranged in order of battle, at or near Courthouse?”

“I knew nothing of General Dickinson’s intelligence; but were the enemy’s whole army drawn up in order of battle near the Courthouse, I do not conceive it was General Washington’s intention to have them attacked by your detachment.”

After that, the court adjourned until the next morning at eight o’clock.

On July thirteenth, I testified again with John and Lafayette.

A few days after that, John left for Providence. On August twelfth, a week or so before John returned, Lee was found guilty and sentenced to a year of suspension from the army.

John’s trip to Providence was a smattering success. Unfortunately, around the time John returned to us— to me— just as riots broke out in Charles Town.

On the subject of Lee’s trial, John and I both agreed that Lee deserved a harsher punishment than he ended up with.

And, when on December third Lee published a pamphlet called _Vindication to the Public,_ denouncing Washington, John decided he would be the one to give Lee the sentence he deserved by challenging Lee to a duel for Washington’s honor.

I was named John’s second, and, after Lee refused to apologize, Evan Edwards— Lee’s second— and I talked, setting the date for the duel to occur on December twenty third on the edge of a wood near Philadelphia.

We arrived late on the afternoon of December twenty third. I stood beside John as we walked into the clearing. 

“Ah, Colonels Hamilton and Laurens,” Edwards said, clapping his hands together. “I was just beginning to think you wouldn’t arrive.”

John’s hand tightened into a fist. Oh, how I would’ve liked to punch Edwards right in his smug face. Instead, I spoke.

“In what manner shall we proceed?” I asked, looking at Edwards, who in turn looked at John and Lee for an answer.

“I propose we advance upon one another and each fire at what time and distance we think is proper,” Lee offered.

I looked expectantly at John, who nodded. “I agree that that is the best method.”

Everyone nodded. “Alright.” Edwards turned to talk to Lee and I turned to talk to John. 

I clasped John’s arm. “Be smart.” John nodded and I stepped back, turning around, Edwards following suit. 

“One, two, three, four five, si—” There was the loud bang of two pistols firing. For a lost moment, there was silence.

Then, “Sirs,” Lee said, “I do believe I’ve been wounded.”

Edwards and I turned around. Lee was clutching his side, and John was staring blankly at his pistol, as if he didn’t quite believe what he saw.

John quickly shook his head, walking towards Lee. “Should we call the medic?”

Lee waved his hand, looking almost insulted at the mere suggestion of calling a doctor. _Prideful bastard,_ I thought.

“No, no, it is alright,” Lee rushed out, still holding his side, his jaw clenched. “The wound inconsiderable! It hurts much less than I had imagined at the first stroke of the Ball.” He breathed in sharply. “I say we fire again.”

Edwards and I exchanged looks, shaking our heads in tandem. “With all due respect, I think honor had been proven.”

I turned to John to agree, but he was already reloading his pistol. I glared at him, hoping it conveyed all of my ire.

“I agree with the General,” John said. Lee nodded at John.

“General,” I began, “Unless you are influenced by motives of personal enmity, I don’t think that the affair ought to be pursued any further. But, as you seem to persist in desiring it, I’m too tender of his friend’s honor to persist in opposing it.”

Edwards’ month dropped open, and he shook his head. “I respectfully disagree! This ought to be laid to rest.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Lee sighed loudly. “I have confidence in the honor of the Gentlemen concerned as seconds, and I’m willing to comply with whatever they should cooly and deliberately determine.”

John said much the same.

So, Edwards and I walked a few feet away from John and Lee and safely out of their earshot. “I say that, that for the most cogent reasons, the affair should terminate as it was then circumstanced,” Edwards said. 

I nodded. “I agree.”

We communicated what had been decided upon to John and Lee, who accepted it. 

“I would just like to know, sir,” I said to Lee, “you are sure that personal enmity has not influenced any of your decisions?”

Lee scoffed. “I have none, and have only met Colonel Laurens to defend his own honor. Mr. Laurens best knew whether there was any on his part.”

John glared at Lee, standing up straighter. “General Lee is acquainted with the motives that had brought me here, which were that I had been informed, from what I think good authority, that General Lee had spoken of General Washington in the grossest and most opprobrious terms of personal abuse. And I thought myself bound to resent, as well on account of the relation he bore to General Washington as from motives of personal friendship, and respect for his character.”

I grinned at John, who grinned back. 

Lee shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, I stated my opinion against General Washington’s military character to my particular friends, and I might, perhaps, do it again. After all, every man has a right to give his sentiments freely of military characters, and that I did not think myself personally accountable to Colonel Laurens here for what he had done in that respect. But I never had spoken of General Washington in the terms mentioned, which I could not have done, as well because he had always esteemed General Washington as a man, as because such abuse would be incompatible with the character, he would ever wish to sustain as a Gentleman.”

Everyone nodded, accepting Lee’s lies, lest the situation further escalate.

We returned to town, and, once we were alone, John threw me onto the bed, his lips on mine.

“Upon the whole we think it a piece of justice to the two Gentlemen to declare, that after they met their conduct was strongly marked with all the politeness generosity coolness and firmness, that ought to characterise a transaction of this nature.”

Excerpt of an Account of a Duel between Major General Charles Lee and Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, written by Alexander Hamilton and Evan Edwards, 12/24/1778

Two days after the duel, John, Washington, the aides, and I celebrated Christmas at the house of Joseph Reed.

Also there was Henry Laurens, John’s father.

“You must be Colonel Hamilton,” Mr. Laurens said, grabbing my hand and shaking it. “I’ve heard much of your promise and talents. It’s nice to finally meet the man behind the words.”

I grinned up at Mr. Laurens. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, sir. I was very sad to hear when you resigned from the position as President of Congress.”

Mr. Laurens shrugged, sipping his champagne. “It was for the best.”

I nodded. “Of course, sir.”

After some stilted small talk with Mr. Laurens, John approached us, gravitating to my side. 

“Jack!” Mr. Laurens exclaimed. “I was wondering when we’d see you.” 

John stood up straighter. “Yes, I was looking for you. But I was wondering if I could pull Colonel Hamilton aside for but a moment?”

I nodded, holding up a finger. “I’ll be back in but a minute, Mr. Laurens.” I followed John outside, where, once we were safely outside and alone, John pushed me against the wall, kissing me until I could barely breathe.

“John,” I hissed, shoving him lightly. John didn’t even look mildly apologetic.

“I hate my father sometimes. I hate myself” John said. I looked at John, but his eyes were on the floor. “And seeing you there, talking to him, it made me wish it was _you_ I could be with for the rest of my life. You, instead— Well, you understand what I’m saying.”

I hesitantly stepped forward towards John, cupping his cheek. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

John laughed. “It’s so unfair.”

“Nothing in life is.”

I had learned that the hard way.

On March twentieth, seventeen seventy nine, John, who had gone to Congress to get passage for his black battalion, was sent to go to South Carolina and George’s state legislators to get passage for his battalion.

And so, a few days later, John and I bid each other adieu as John left for the south, partially to get passage from the state legislatures and partially to go down and fight in Charlestown.

A few days after John left, on the twenty ninth, John accepted the promotion to an official Lieutenant Colonel.

Everything was alright. Of course, that’s when it all came crashing down around me as it always had, ever since I was a child.

I was writing in the aide’s office, writing a letter to John, when Tilghman walked in. “Letters came!” He tossed two to me. “They’re not from Laurens, before you ask. The courier told me to give them to you to give to him.”

“Who are they from?” I asked, looking at the outside of the letter, written in an obviously femenine hand.

Tilghman smiled, looking much too pleased. “They’re from Laurens’ wife!” Everyone gasped. “Apparently he has one— and a child— back in England.”

McHenry said something, but I didn’t register it over the blood rushing in my ears. Laurens was married? Laurens was married… He had a child.

A wife and child.

I hummed, as if the news didn’t bother me at all, despite the fact that I felt as if my whole world had been turned upside down all over again for what felt like the millionth time.

I supposed that I wasn’t someone that deserved happiness, after all.

“I anticipate by sympathy the pleasure you must feel from the sweet converse of your dearer self in the inclosed letters. I hope they may be recent. They were brought out of New York by General Thompson delivered to him there by a Mrs. Moore not long from England, soi-disante parente de Madame votre épouse. She speaks of a daughter of yours, well when she left England…”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, April 1779  
  


Laurens did not respond to me until July fourteenth, three months after I wrote to him. He didn’t even mention his wife.

I tried to push all thoughts of Laurens out of my mind, instead focusing on my work and the other people in my life.

I was reading a letter from James Duane and holding the apple he’d sent me when Meade and Tilghman approached me.

“Where did you get that fruit from?” Meade asked me, cocking his head to the side.

“It’s from James Duane,” I responded absently. “He sent me an apple from his woods. It’s a Hugh’s Crab Apple, used to make Virginian Cider.”

Tilghman burst out laughing. “Hate to tell you, Hammie, but that’s a regular Crab Apple.”

I shook my head, setting my letter aside. “Mr. Duane virtuoso as well as yourselves.” Tilghman and Meade looked unconvinced. “He sent it to me to be submitted to inspection. And I’m obliged to be acquainted with the natural productions of this country.”

Tilghman snorted. “Oh, Hammie, would you like us to educate you on apples?”

Meade shook his head, clicking his tongue. “For shame, Ham. For shame.”

For the rest of the evening, Tilghman and Meade nettled me about the apple. And, I was actually relieved when, at the end of night, I was unable to find the apple.

“... They were unmerciful upon the occasion and baited me so hard that I almost thought the loss of the apple a happy riddance…”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to James Duane, 09/14/1779

On December first, the army arrived in Morristown, New Jersey, where we would encamp first the winter.

Six days later, John Laurens arrived in camp.

I was sitting in the aide’s room, writing, when McHenry threw the door open, Laurens beside him.

“Well, look who returned!” Meade slapped Laurens on the back, but John didn’t even look at him, his eyes on me.

I had thought that I had accepted Laurens’ marriage, but now that he was here, and I could see him, I wanted to scream at him.

“I can’t believe you’re married and a father,” Tilghman exclaimed, shaking his head. “Even Hammie didn’t know, and you two are practically a duo at this point.”

Meade gasped. “You didn’t know, Hamilton?”

“No.” I looked right into Laurens’ eyes. “I didn’t know.”

Later that night, after we went out to drink, partially celebrating Laurens’ return and partially lamenting, for those who cared, the fact that the southern legislatures had vetoed Laurens’ battalion idea.

I somehow managed to forget Laurens was there when suddenly he pulled me aside, dragging me into a nearby alley.

“Alex, talk to me,” Laurens begged, grabbing my hands. “I thought, from your letters, you had overcome your anger?”

I scoffed. “Laurens, you are _married_ and have a _child._ You and I—” I breathed in deeply, collecting my thoughts. “We were intimate. I showed myself to you. I told you everything, even the most shameful parts, and you couldn’t even be bothered to tell me the most basic details of yourself!”

Laurens nodded. “I deserve that.”

“Damn right you do.”

Laurens stepped towards me. “I’m so sorry. More than you know. I hurt you, but I only married Martha because I impregnated her on accident. I don’t love her as anything more than a friend.” John stepped towards me, kissing my jaw. “I love _you,_ my dear boy.”

I glared at John. “I want to hate you.” The, _but I don’t,_ remained unsaid. Luckily, John seemed to understand, wrapping me in his arms.

I hated that only in John’s warm, safe embrace did I finally relax.

When John left a few days later, he kissed me privately, making it last as long as possible. “I love you. I love you.” John brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “I beg you to be as happy as you deserve.”

I nodded, resting my forehead against John’s. “I love you.”

When John left, something inside of me— something that already was cracking— shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Also, happy early 263rd birthday Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton! (It’s on the ninth.) The next chapter should be up in a few days.  
> Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. If anyone is wondering why I wrote smut, I don’t know. I felt like it.  
> 2\. The events with Enslin actually happened. It’s humiliating and awful, but it did happen.  
> 3\. Hamilton’s quote about keeping his happiness independent from the caprice of others is from the infamous April 1779 letter.  
> 4\. The flaming shots party actually happened.  
> 5\. Evan Edwards was actually Charles Lee’s second, not Burr, but I believe they were related. I’d have to check, though. All of the dialogue from the trial and most from the duel are straight from transcripts of the trial and the account of duel.  
> 6\. The Christmas thing actually happened.  
> 7\. The April 1779 letter is the first letter in which Hamilton mentions Laurens’ wife, meaning that it was probably when he found out.  
> 8\. In December of 1779 and early 1780, Hamilton was thrust into a depression. I promise, it will become important later.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the longer chapter, thank you for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day.  
>   
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 8, 1780-February 1780

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> (And Happy 263rd birthday, Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton!)

_January 8, 1780, Morris Town, New Jersey_

In early January, I received word that John, who had been nominated as American minister to France to join Benjamin Franklin, had nominated me for the position.

Despite my gratitude for what John had done for me, I couldn’t help but think over all of the reasons why I _wouldn’t_ get the position.

I was more qualified than the other men, yes, but John was much more qualified than I, having actually been to Europe and living there for multiple years. Not to mention, he had people backing him.

I did not. I had practically no one in this country, no connections, nothing. 

Not only were things going awfully for me, but for the army. Washington even wrote a letter to the New Jersey magistrates, detailing the army’s disappointing lack of provisions.

Officers and enlisted men alike were all starving, the military hospital desperately needed supplies, and the residential tories in Morris Town hated us with passion.

It seemed that everything was falling apart. The only pleasure I happened to find— and, even then, it was fleeting— was with the ladies of the town.

One beautiful woman I met was named Polly. She was gorgeous, with plump lips and wide hips. When she kissed me, she tasted of cinnamon.

Another I met was named Cornelia. Short and brunette, she was quite the coquette, flirting with not only me, but the other officers.

McHenry even wrote a poem on my exploits with the ladies. When everyone assumed I was in love with the two ladies, I didn’t bother to correct them.

All the while, I thought of John. John, who had lied to me, John who was synonymous with safety and warmth, John, who was fighting down south where I was unable to follow.

John, who was a paradox I was unable to figure out.

I was angry. So, so angry. I was angry at John for leaving me, I was angry at Washington for not allowing me to follow John and fight, and I was angry at Congress for not supplying the army.

This was certainly not what I had expected of my life when I had jumped off of that flaming boat almost eight years before.

Was this all I was destined to be? Would this be where I’d be in twenty years? A sad, unsuccessful man, living out my final days in sorrow?

To me, it sure seemed as if that’s where I was headed. It wasn’t as if I was trying all that hard to try at all. Despite my better judgement, I found myself at the pub almost every night, drowning my sorrows in wine.

I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed in myself or the world at large. 

I was so exhausted, and every night I dreamt of John, of my mother, of James, of Peter, even of my cousin Ann. I woke up in a sweat almost every night, especially if I got myself drunk.

The worst part was being unable to share my woes and dread with anyone. But I should’ve been used to that. 

Before John, I had never relied on anyone. It shouldn’t have been as big of an adjustment as it was, to go from having someone to having no one.

And, on January eighth, once I had finished my work, I dragged myself to the aide’s shared bedroom and penned a letter to John, trying my hardest not to let the darkness hovering around me bleed into my words to John.

Despite my best efforts, I failed. Miserably. I was irascible, sad, and I longed for nothing more than to just leave this awful world.

I— irrationally— wondered if God was punishing me. I had survived so many things that, reasonably, should have killed me.

And wouldn’t that be ironic? To make me wish I was dead, only when there was virtually nothing around to end my miserable existence?

I was so caught up in my dreadful thoughts that I didn’t even notice that I’d dated the letter wrong.

“I am chagrined and unhappy but I submit. In short Laurens I am disgusted with every thing in this world but yourself and very few more honest fellows and I have no other wish than as soon as possible to make a brilliant exit.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, 01/08/1780, but incorrectly dated as 01/08/1779

Elizabeth Schuyler arrived in Morris Town in early February. I was, unknowingly, at her Aunt and Uncle, John and Gertrude Cochran’s house— both of whom worked at the army’s hospital— making a list of what supplies we needed.

“Yes, we need…” John Cochran trailed off. I looked up from my notes to see he had rushed into the parlor. “Elizabeth!” 

I peeked out from behind Mr. Cochran, seeing the beautiful dark eyed beauty that I’d met what felt like a million years ago.

Elizabeth Schuyler.

She smiled sweetly at her Uncle, shivering. “Yes. Thank you, again, for having me.”

Mr. Cochran waved his hand. “Nonsense. Now, where is your Aunt?” As soon as he finished his sentence, Gertrude Cochran burst into the room, holding blankets with a servant behind her, who carrying a tray of tea.

“Here, sweetheart,” Mrs. Cochran said, squeezing Miss Schuyler’s cheek. I cleared my throat and everyone turned to me.

“Oh!” Mrs. Cochran said, turning to Miss Schuyler. “This is—”

“Colonel Alexander Hamilton,” Miss Schuyler finished, looking up at me. “We’ve met before. I trust you remember, Colonel?” 

I nodded. “Of course. It would be difficult to forget a woman of such grace and beauty.” I stepped forward and kissed the back of Miss Schuyler’s gloved hand.

Miss Schuyler’s cheeks flushed pink, and I could see the Cochrans looking at each other from the corner of my eye.

I straightened up. “I will visit you tomorrow at the hospital to get the rest of the list of supplies needed,” I said to Mr. Cochran. He nodded.

“Mrs. Cochran. Mr. Cochran. Miss Schuyler.” I walked from the room.

As I was putting my coat on in the entryway, I could hear my name murmured.

The next day, as I’d promised, I found myself at the military hospital. Upon arriving inside, I steeled myself, the pungent smells of the sick and dying immediately wafting to me.

I sighed, stepping into the makeshift hospital, injured men calling to me for water. I ignored them, keeping my head held high.

If I looked at them, I’d undoubtedly think of John, who was fighting in Charles Town. John, who could find himself in a hospital himself… 

I shook my head, clasping my makeshift notes harder. I approached Mr. Cochran, who was talking to another man, and looking very upset.

“Sir?” I asked hesitantly, causing Mr. Cochran to turn and look at me.

“Ah, Colonel.” He turned to the man he was speaking to first. “Give him leather to bite down on. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Mr. Cochran walked up to me, wiping his eyebrows with a rag that must’ve once been white. “My apologies, we have a man who needs an amputation, but we don’t have laudanum…”

I glanced down at the list. “I’ll add it to the list.” Mr. Cochran nodded in approval.

“We also need…”

Once we had finished the list, I found myself walking down the rows of patients. I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps I _wanted_ to torture myself with all of the possibilities.

I was walking down the row near the exit in particular when a petite woman, her hair in a bonnet, ran into me, letting out a yelp as she did.

“My goodness, I’m so sorry!” she cried, looking up at me, and my violet eyes met the chocolate ones of Miss Elizabeth Schuyler.

“Ah, it is my fault,” I said, stepping back. Miss Schuyler was still looking at me, wide eyed. “Really, it’s alright.”

Miss Schuyler then nodded, rubbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.” She looked around at the rows of injured men, more than half of whom would never return home. “I understand it’s for the cause, but I wish there was a way to avoid such bloodshed.”

The thought of John, lying on a sick bed, flitted through my brain.

“Wishful thinking,” I muttered. Miss Schuyler snorted, slapping her hand over her mouth.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

I frowned down at her. “You needn’t apologize.” I turned to look out the small window, only then noticing that it was already dark outside.

Miss Schuyler nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. “Yes, well I should really be leaving…”

As she turned to walk away, I surprised myself by placing my hand on her elbow. “It’s dark out,” I stated the obvious. “Let me walk you home.”

Miss Schuyler bit her lip, seemingly contemplating my offer. Finally, she smiled. “Thank you. Just let me fetch my coat.”

I followed Miss Schuyler to the front doors, where she grabbed her coat. “Betsey!” Mr. Cochran called from behind us. “Are you leaving already?”

Miss Schuyler nodded. “Yes. Colonel Hamilton has generously offered to walk me home.” She looked me in the eyes as she spoke.

As she did, my stomach twisted in the best way possible.

Mr. Cochran turned to grin at me. “Thank you, Colonel. Be quick.” He gave us a look and walked away.

“Betsey?” I asked Miss Schuyler, quirking my eyebrow, my voice low. I held the door open for her, noticing Miss Schuyler turn pink.

“A childhood nickname,” she explained, her voice as quiet as mine, despite us being alone outside, with no one to hear us.

I hummed, offering my arm to Miss Schuyler. At her confused expression, I elaborated. “Let me steady you. The ground is slippery from the snow.”

She shook her head, looking faintly amused. “No thank you. I assure you, I’m fine.”

I nodded, my pride only slightly wounded. “Alright.”

We walked in silence for the next few minutes. Finally, Miss Schuyler spoke up. “So, how do you like Morris Town?”

I shrugged. “It’s very beautiful. Although, I must admit, it’s hard to enjoy a town when the permanent residents hate us so.”

Miss Schuyler nodded in understanding. “Yes, that is true. My mother warned me of that when she sent me off.”

“Oh?” I asked, turning to look at Miss Schuyler, who, in turn, turned to look at me. “Did your mother send you here to turn the hardened soldiers into puny lovers?”

Miss Schuyler’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “You remind me of my sister,” she said. Quickly, she continued. “In the best way!”

“Margarita? The one I met in Albany?” I turned to look down at Miss Schuyler for an answer, but she shook her head.

“No, my elder sister, Angelica. She is quite sharp, like you.”

And, perhaps I heard wrong, but I swore I heard Miss Schuyler whisper, “And a flirt, too.”

I bit down a laugh. “You are as interesting as Tench said you were.”

“Oh, Mr. Tilghman?” Miss Schuyler asked, but she didn’t look overly excited to hear of him. “Yes, I believe I remember him…”

She tapped her lip. “Yes, I remember him.”

“We talked of you, after our meeting in Albany,” I told Miss Schuyler, watching as she giggled.

“Strange. So did my sister and I.”

“What a coincidence.”

Miss Schuyler stepped towards me, just slightly, as she said, “What a coincidence, indeed.”

When the Cochran’s house was visible in the distance, the pit in my stomach, which had dissipated at Miss Schuyler’s company, returned, reminding me that I’d, once again, be spending my night alone.

I walked Miss Schuyler up to the steps of the house, dreading the moment when she’d go inside, leaving me alone like I always had been.

“Thank you.” Miss Schuyler turned to look at me. And, it was probably me projecting onto her, but Miss Schuyler looked almost sad. “It was very kind of you.”

I shook my head. “It’s my pleasure.” _Truly,_ I thought. “If you ever need someone to walk you home, think of me,” I joked.

My joke had the desired effect. Miss Schuyler snickered behind her hand, her fine dark eyes alight with joy. “I will.”

And, before I could walk away, Miss Schuyler was suddenly right in front of me, leaning up to gently brush her soft, pink lips against my cheek.

When she pulled away, we were both blushing. “Goodnight.” And with that, Miss Schuyler darted inside.

I held my hand to my cheek. “Goodnight,” I mumbled to the closed door, my stomach feeling warm and fuzzy.

And, when later that night I found myself at the pub, instead of John occupying my thoughts as he usually did, I thought of Miss Elizabeth Schuyler, her dark eyes, her beautiful smile, and the feeling of her warm, soft lips on my cold cheek.

“I found none at home but Miss Betsy Schuyler the Generals 2d daughter to whom I was introduced by Mr. Commissary Livingston who accompanied me. I was prepossessed in favor of this young Lady the moment I saw her. A Brunette with the most good natured lively dark eyes that I ever saw, which threw a beam of good temper and benevolence over her whole Countenance. Mr. Livingston informed me that I was not mistaken in my Conjecture for that she was the finest tempered Girl in the World.”

Excerpt of Tench Tilghman’s diary, 08/22/1775

A few days later, I found myself in Lady Washington’s entertaining room, having been called in. “Lady Washington,” I greeted, leaning down to kiss her hand.

Lady Washington smiled, patting the seat beside her. “Please, sit.” I did so, sitting up very straight, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And drop it did.

“Colonel Hamilton, I came to ask how you are.” I frowned. Lady Washington stirred her tea. “I’ve noticed you seem to be sleeping less and drinking more, ever since your friend left. I ask again, are you alright?”

Anger curled in my chest. I didn’t need Lady Washington or _anyone’s_ pity. “I’m alright. I assure you.” 

Before Lady Washington could respond, a servant girl entered the room, Mrs. Cochran and Miss Schuyler trailing behind her.

“Your three o’clock meeting,” the servant said, curtsying and ambling out. 

I was grateful, for once, that a conversation was cut short. This was certainly _not_ a conversation that I wished to have. 

“Colonel Hamilton!” Mrs. Cochran cried, walking over to and smiling. “It’s good to see you again.”

“The same to you.” I forced out a smile, standing up. “Well, I really should be on my way,” I said, bowing and scurrying out of the room.

Once I entered the empty aide’s room, I punched my mattress as hard as I could. I was _fine._ I didn’t need anyone to worry over me. I was fine.

I missed John.

Later that day, I once again saw Miss Schuyler, this time by herself, standing by the front door of the Ford Mansion, where the army was staying. Her hands were interlaced atop her stomach and she was glancing around pointedly, looking very annoyed.

“Miss Schuyler?” Miss Schuyler turned, her face lighting up with a bright, beautiful smile. 

“Colonel!” she exclaimed, walking over to me quickly. “It is good to see you once again.” Strangely, she sounded as if she truly meant it.

“It is good to see you as well.” I surprised myself by how much I meant my words. Miss Schuyler’s smile turned into a beam, bright enough that I couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m very sorry that we interrupted your conversation with Lady Washington,” Miss Schuyler apologized. 

I shrugged. “In truth, it wasn’t a conversation that I wanted to have. So, really, thank you.”

Miss Schuyler knitted her eyebrows together in apparent perplexion. “Why did you not want to have that conversation?” I must’ve made a face, as Miss Schuyler quickly took back her words. “I mean not to pry!”

I shook my head. “You’re not. I…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It matters not. If I may ask, where is your aunt?”

Miss Schuyler glanced around, thankfully allowing me the unsubtle change of subject. “I actually don’t know. She left to go talk to a servant about something or the other, but it’s been ten minutes and she’s yet to return.”

“Oh.” I breathed in deeply. “I don’t mean to assume, but I hope my company is somewhat on par to your aunt’s.”

Miss Schuyler shyly looked up at me from under her eyelashes. “Oh, it is.” She bit her lip, clearly wishing to say something. “Call me Eliza,” she suddenly blurted out.

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, and Miss Schuyler elaborated. “The last thing I wish to do is impress a friendship upon you, but if we are to be friends, I would like you to call me by my Christian name.”

I nodded. “Then you must call me Alexander, Eliza,” I said, trying out how her name sounded on my tongue.

I hated that it rolled off my tongue so well.

“Of course, Alexander,” Eliza responded, right as Mrs. Cochran returned. 

“Betsey,we must go.” Mrs. Cochran turned to grab her coat, only then noticing me. “Oh, Colonel. I trust you’ve been good company to my niece?”

Eliza nodded, sharing a look with me. “He’s been astounding company.”

After a goodbye, I was left standing in the entryway to the house alone.

As I thought of _Eliza,_ the thought John suddenly appeared in my mind, and I was hit with a flash of guilt. I pushed it away.

John had left _me,_ not the opposite. I was allowed to make other friends and be happy without feeling like I was betraying John.

Everything was fine. Besides, I _liked_ Eliza. She was sweet, and I enjoyed her company immensely. There was nothing wrong about that.

Nothing at all.

I was fine. Everything was fine.

But I found myself sitting in the kitchens that night, holding ice in a towel over my neck, where I had been punched in the throat after purposely beginning a fight with someone who was insulting our cause.

It was foolish and juvenile, but I wanted to feel _something_ so badly.

Even if it was just pain.

I saw Eliza again a few days later. Once again, she wasn’t alone. But she wasn’t with her aunt or uncle either. No, she was with Kitty Livingston.

“Colonel Hamilton!” Eliza exclaimed, holding up her skirts and rushing over to me, yelling out a quick apology to a man she ran by and nearby into. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Behind her, Kitty approached us, much more ladylike than Eliza had. “It _is_ nice seeing you here.” Kitty smirked. “Whatever happened to the letters you used to write to me? I do regret their absence for the past three years.” I rolled my eyes at Kitty’s gall.

Eliza’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. “You…” She looked between us, her eyes widening as she connected the dots. Then, she flushed.

Kitty rolled her eyes, resting her parasol against her pale shoulder. “Don’t worry, Eliza, if you want him, I shan’t stop you.”

Eliza hissed something at Kitty that was too low for me to discern, slapping Kitty’s arm. I watched the exchange with mild amusement.

“Kitty Livingston.” I bowed low and briefly kissed her hand. “It has been much too long. But you shouldn’t worry, Eliza has been fine company.”

“Oh, Eliza is it?” Kitty asked, her face expressing too much excitement. Eliza looked down at the floor as if she wished it would swallow her up whole. I couldn’t help but feel the same.

Kitty suddenly gasped, causing Eliza and I to turn to her in alarm. “I have to be going! I’ll see you at dinner tonight, Bets.” Kitty quickly scurried off.

Eliza huffed, covering her bright red face with her hands. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “It’s not an issue. I would love to walk you home, if you’d allow me the pleasure.” Eliza peeked out from over her hands, causing an unexpected burst of laughter to come from me.

“Yes,” Eliza answered, taking my arm. As soon as she did, she moved to pull away, but I placed my hand over hers, stopping her.

For a long moment, we walked in silence. Finally, Eliza spoke. “If I may ask, why did Lady Washington wish to speak with you? It’s been on my mind.”

I sighed. Why not give her a few details? What did I have to lose? “A good friend of mine has gone south to fight in the war. And, I… I worry for him. What if he doesn’t return?”

Eliza waited for a minute before she answered me. “This is war, after all. But I understand that you worry for him. All you can do is pray and wish for the best.”

Eliza squeezed my hand, where it was still resting on top of hers. “I’m always here if you wish to talk.”

I smiled down at Eliza, the snowflakes in her dark hair and face only increasing her soft beauty. A snowflake fell onto her nose and, on a whim, without thinking it through, I wiped it away.

Eliza’s and my eyes widened. “My apologies,” I said, unsure of what had come over me.

“Come to dinner tonight,” Eliza offered, looking up at me. “I’d love to have you there.”

I nodded, desperate to keep a smile on Eliza’s sweet, heart shaped face. “Then there I shall be.”

Eliza beamed brightly, her eyes crinkling at the edges from the strength of her smile and happiness. “Thank you.”

And, when we arrived at the Cochran’s house, I bent down, pressing my lips to Eliza’s cheek, resting my other hand on her other cheek. As I pulled away, Eliza grabbed my wrist, holding my hand there for another second.

It felt strangely intimate.

“I will see you tonight. Six o’clock.” Eliza waved farewell, walking inside the house.

The whole way back to headquarters, my smile remained on my face.

That evening, I found myself outside of the Cochran’s house. I rapped on the door, tapping my fingers against my thigh. After a moment, a servant man opened the door.

I nodded in thanks, walking forward into the study, where Mr. Cochran and the men were drinking, while the women talked in the parlor.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Mr. Cochran cheered, walking over to me and slapping my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Yes,” I agreed, taking a glass of offered cognac. I’m glad to be here as well.” I couldn’t help but think of Eliza.

When a servant finally came to fetch us for dinner, my gaze immediately went to Eliza, who smiled sweetly at me over her fan.

As we sat down, Eliza, unfortunately, across from me. Kitty, who was next to me, nudged me with her foot. “So, Colonel, how has the army been treating you?” Kitty asked, twirling her fork. “It’s been quite some time since we’ve last met, and I’d like to know how you like the army, considering we didn’t get to talk much last time we met.”

The memory of John’s flirting and my laying Kitty down on her bed flashed through my mind. I shrugged. “It’s been going well.” _A lie._ “I’m very honored to have my position.”

Mrs. Cochran looked between Kitty and I curiously. “You two have been previously acquainted?” she asked.

Kitty and I exchanged looks. “Oh, yes,” I responded. “Kitty and I are very well acquainted, indeed.”

Kitty laughed into her wine and Eliza’s cheeks were tinted pink as she looked down at her plate.

Mr. Cochran broke the awkward silence. “That’s nice.” 

Everyone nodded and we resumed eating in mostly silence, until I decided to do what I did best: speak. “So, Miss Schuyler, why did you decide to grace Morris Town with your presence?” I asked, leaning forward on my hand.

Eliza looked up at me, taking a careful bite of her potatoes, likely collecting her thoughts. “I wanted to help the cause. I can do much more good here than if I had stayed home in Albany. Besides, Peggy is there to help Mama.”

I nodded. “How is Margarita?”

Eliza shrugged. “She’s doing well. Still unmarried, I hate to say, but with wit as sharp as ever.” Everyone laughed softly.

“That’s nice,” I answered. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

And, when Eliza looked right into my eyes, I thought about how I wouldn’t have minded being consumed…

Once dinner ended, everyone retired to the parlor, Eliza sitting beside me. I grinned at her, letting my fingers brush her neck as I reached down to grab a glass of wine.

Eliza startled slightly and looked up at me with wide, sparkling eyes. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers. It seemed Eliza was unable to break eye contact, either.

Then, suddenly, Mrs. Cochran requested Eliza play a piece at the pianoforte, breaking the spell. I blinked and Eliza jumped up, hurrying to the pianoforte.

Her fingers glided over the keys and she began to sing softly, her soothing soprano carrying around the room.

As she sang, I realized that I had never seen Eliza so confident and relaxed. She sat up straighter, a little smile on her face.

_“Sing a song of sixpence,_

_A pocket full of rye._

_Four and twenty blackbirds,_

_Baked in a pie._

_When the pie was opened_

_The birds began to sing…”_

When she finished, I was the first to clap. Eliza beamed up at me. Unfortunately, as soon as she had stood up, the confident air which had surrounded her vanished.

“Thank you,” Eliza said quietly, bowing her head.

After another few hours or so, I stood up, ready to leave. “Well, I should be on my way.”

“Wait!” Eliza stood up abruptly, seemingly unaware of everyone looking at her. “Let me walk you to the door.”

I met Eliza’s warm gaze. “Of course. I’d be honored.” Eliza’s face broke out into a wide smile and she hurried towards me, holding the door to the entryway open.

“Thank you for inviting me,” I said, low enough that no one could hear us in the parlor. 

Eliza shrugged. “I’m happy you came.” She took a step towards me, taking my hand. “Really, I’m glad you’re here.”

“As am I.” I could feel myself leaning down, slowly, so slowly, before, right as our lips were about to touch, a servant entered the room, sending Eliza and I stumbling back.

“I’m so sorry!” the servant gasped, hurrying out of the room.

It occurred to me, completely unbidden, that I was _disappointed_ that we hadn’t kissed.

As Eliza and I turned to face each other, I schooled my face into a calm mask. Before I could apologize for my impertinence, Eliza threw her arms around my neck, pressing her cheek against my cravat.

Eliza slowly pulled back, but only slightly. She pressed her hands on my shoulders to steady herself and kissed my cheek.

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

“Goodnight, Betsey.”

Eliza looked up at me in shock. “Betsey?”

“Would you prefer I just call you Eliza?”

“No!” Eliza cried, shaking her head from side to side rapidly. “I like how it sounds on your lips.” 

I bowed low, kissing Eliza’s soft palm. “Then adieu, _Betsey_.”

As I walked away, Eliza held the door open for me. I walked backwards as long as I could, keeping my eyes on Eliza, before I turned the right way and walked back to headquarters.

The whole walk to headquarters, I couldn’t tear my thoughts from Eliza’s soft voice and smile.

I walked up to the Ford’s house. Before I could enter the house, I was stopped by the sentinel at the door. “Who comes there?”

I walked up the steps until the sentinel held out his bayonet, his eyes sharp and scrutinizing. “It’s only me, Colonel Hamilton.”

The sentinel relaxed, his shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize it was you.”

I waved my hand dismissively, too happy to care that I’d almost been stabbed by a bayonet. “It is alright.”

The sentinel nodded. “The countersign?”

I froze. “I—” I opened and closed my mouth, trying, in vain, to conjure up the password from the deepest recesses of my mind. “You know me.”

The sentinel exhaled. “I know, Colonel, but I require the password.”

I groaned, rubbing my temples, when I noticed Jacob Ford, the fourteen year old son of the owner of the house. “Aye, Master Ford, is that you?” I asked, leaning forward to see clearer. It was. I whispered in his ear. “Give me the countersign.”

Jacob nodded, whispering in my ear, “Narcissus.”

I stepped forward. “Narcissus.”

The sentinel bit his lip, looking around nervously, still keeping his bayonet pointed at me. I placed my hands on my hips challengingly. “I have given the countersign,” I pointed out, exasperated. “Why do you not shoulder your musket?”

He sighed. “Will that do, Colonel?”

“It will for this time. Let me pass.” With another loud exhale, the sentinel shouldered his bayonet, letting my pass.

As I walked up the stairs to aide’s room, I still felt just _happy._ I wasn’t angry or melancholy. I was just happy.

I hadn’t been this happy since John had left.

John… My good mood vanished as soon as it had come, leaving behind the familiar hole of emptiness that I had become accustomed to.

It came to me that I had _wanted_ Eliza to kiss me. Guilt curled in my heart. Had I broken faith with John? Had I betrayed him?

So many horrible questions… 

I shook my head. _No._ John was married. He had lied to me for all of the almost two years we’d known each other.

Besides, Eliza and I were nothing but friends, so it didn’t matter, anyway.

I simply needed a friend. Eliza was that friend. I had just misinterpreted things between us. I wasn’t guilty of anything.

I still loved John— that I was sure of.

But as I fell asleep that night, I drifted off with the memory of Eliza’s soft hands and sweet smile.

The next day, I was invited to the Cochran’s house again by Eliza and Kitty, to pick up mittens for the soldiers that they’d knitted themselves. I arrived at four in the afternoon, my coat pulled tightly around my shoulders, because of the harsh snow outside.

Many had ventured to call this winter even worse than Valley Forge. Weather wise, they weren’t exactly wrong.

I was led into the parlor, where only Kitty sat. “Kitty, it’s a pleasure. But, if I may ask, where is Miss Schuyler?”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “She’s upstairs, getting dressed. She has just returned from helping soldiers at the hospital.”

I smiled. “If only all patriots were as devoted to the cause as her.”

Kitty looked at me deeply, as if searching for something. She must’ve found her answer, as she leaned back, smirking.

I cocked my eyebrow at Kitty— a silent question— when Eliza hurried down the stairs, wearing a pretty periwinkle dress. 

“Kitty, does this dress look nice?” she asked, spinning slightly. 

Kitty shrugged. “Ask the man you’re dressing for.” Eliza furrowed her eyebrows. I was given a front row seat to see Eliza realize what Kitty meant and for her to turn to me.

“I think you look beautiful,” I said, my eyes raking up and down Eliza’s femine figure. 

Eliza looked down at her shoes, biting her lip, the corners of her lips upturned only a little. “Thank you. You look nice as well.”

I snorted. I was wearing my army uniform. I didn’t look nice at all. I suddenly wished that I’d put more effort into my appearance, even if I was only on a short errand.

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

Eliza nodded. We looked at each other for a long moment. I looked away first. “The mittens?”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes!” She picked up a small wooden crate from the floor, handing it to me. “There are only fifteen pairs, but I can make more—”

I held up a hand. “It is more than enough. Thank you.”

Kitty coughed pointedly, causing Eliza and I to turn to her. “Bets.” Kitty gestured to a pair of gloves on the arm of the couch.

“Oh!” Eliza grabbed them, handing them to me. “I made them for you.”

My eyes widened. _For me?_ “I… thank you. Thank you.”

Eliza blushed, shaking her head. “It’s my pleasure. After all, we need your pen to win this war. You couldn’t write with frostbite.”

I ignored the anger that rose in me at the unintentional jab at my menial work as an aide, running my hands over the intricate stitching of the gloves.

“You’re a talented seamstress.” I balanced the crate on my hip and squeezed Eliza’s arm. “You have my utmost gratitude.”

As I turned to leave, Eliza placed her hand on my arm. “Wait— you should stay for tea!”

I glanced at the clock. “Well…” As Eliza’s face dropped, I could feel my resolve crumbling away. If I was quick, I could surely make it back to headquarters by six… “Alright.”

Eliza beamed. It made my heart beat faster, for some strange reason. I set the crate down and put my gloves in my pocket.

Kitty stood up. “I’ll tell Dorothy to fetch is tea.” With another look in our direction, Kitty dashed off.

As soon as she left, Eliza sat down on the couch in the space Kitty had previously occupied, patting the place beside her.

I sat. 

For the next hour or so, Eliza, Kitty, and I sat and chatted amiably about a myriad of topics. During a pause in the conversation, Kitty suddenly got a wicked grin on her face, setting her cup of tea down.

“Eliza, have you showed Colonel Hamilton your drawing of Peggy?”

I turned to Eliza. “Oh? A drawing? Could I perhaps see it?” Eliza glared at Kitty, but she pulled a little piece of paint out of her shawl, nonetheless.

It was beautiful. From my vague memory of Margarita, it captured her perfectly. “This is beautiful.”

And it was. I meant it truly. Eliza’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. I noticed then that a strand of hair had escaped from the chignon her hair was in.

I was overcome with the sudden urge to tuck it behind her ear. Instead, I blinked, reminding myself we were already breaching propriety by being alone, and that I needn’t make it worse.

Eliza looked up at me, our fingers brushing as she took back the picture, tucking it into her shawl. My eyes carefully followed the movement. “Thank you,” she said softly.

I hesitantly placed my hand over hers. “Thank _you._ It’s as beautiful as the woman who drew it.”

Eliza tittered, and I couldn’t help the thought that it was a musical sound.

We were so caught up in each other that we didn’t even notice Kitty leave the room.

When I left that night, I felt as if I was walking on air. My thoughts were consumed with _Elizabeth, Eliza, Betsey…_

Her cheerful disposition, her handsome figure, her dark eyes, her soft voice… 

“How wonderful she is…” I said when McHenry asked me why I was spending so much time with Eliza.

It hit me a few nights later, as I was working late to make up the hour that I’d missed while at the Cochran’s. I _wanted_ Eliza. Not just sexually. I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to hear her tell me that she… 

I dropped my quill in shock, thankful that I was alone. Eliza had me completely enraptured. Immediately, I thought of John.

John, who I had trusted, and still did, completely. John, who had embraced everything about me. John, who was married.

_John…_

Maybe this was for the best. John and I couldn’t be together forever. But, even so, I knew that my heart still fluttered when I thought of him…

Was I guilty? John had told me that he loved me, and I had told him I loved him in return. When he’d left, I had spiraled.

But Eliza made me _feel_ something; she gave me a temporary reprieve from the feeling of nothingness that I felt all day.

I breathed in deeply. John was married and had a child. He didn’t need me and I didn’t need him.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think of John. I only wanted to think of Eliza. Eliza, who I could lawfully have. Eliza, who was sweet and good.

Eliza, Eliza, Eliza.

I rubbed my eyes. And, without any real reason, I thought of Margarita, who had looked searchingly between Eliza and I when we’d first met, all those years ago.

I grabbed my quill and began to write a letter, destined for Albany.

“I have already confessed the influence your sister has gained over me; yet notwithstanding this, I have some things of a very serious and heinous nature to lay to her charge. She is most unmercifully handsome and so perverse that she has none of those pretty affectations which are the prerogatives of beauty. Her good sense is destitute of that happy mixture of vanity and ostentation which would make it conspicuous to the whole tribe of fools and foplings as well as to men of understanding so that as the matter now stands it is very little known beyond the circle of these. She has good nature affability and vivacity unembellished with that charming frivolousiness which is justly deemed one of the principal accomplishments of a _belle.”_

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Margarita “Peggy” Schuyler, February 1780

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next chapter should be up in a few days. And, I just wanted to say, thank you all SO MUCH for all of the comments and kudos. It always makes my day. Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. Morristown used to be called Morris Town, so that’s what I’m referring to it as.  
> 2\. In his biography of Hamilton, Chernow says that Eliza arrived in Morristown on February second, but he doesn’t have a source for that. So, based on a letter from Kitty Livingston to (I think) Sarah Livingston that mentions Eliza arrived in February, I just decided to go with early February.  
> 3\. It was the custom at the time that at intimate dinner parties, men drank in one room, and women chatted in the other. (Sometimes they sewed.)  
> 4\. The password story actually happened, and most of the dialogue in that scene is from an account of the event.  
> 5\. The winter of 1779/1780 was called one of the worst winters the army had seen. And, yes, many tories and normal residents in Morristown hated the army because the last time they’d stayed, they brought small pox. Pretty valid reason not to like them, if you ask me.  
> 6\. Hamilton did actually write a letter to Peggy Schuyler, basically gushing about how great Eliza was. (Which is fair.) And, I don’t care what founders says, Angelica Church was NOT in Morristown with Eliza in February. She arrived in spring.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you, again, for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day.
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 1780-May 1780

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Side Note: there is French in this chapter. Here is are the translations below, in the order in which they were said.  
> I do, Mrs. Carter. Do you?  
> I do as well. I learned as a girl. Your accent is different, I have to admit.  
> Is this your mother tongue?  
> In a sense. My mother spoke French, my father English. I grew up hearing both.

_February 1780, Morris Town, New Jersey_

Eliza and I were walking to the Cochran’s house. We had seen each other at headquarters while I was at work, and Eliza had had tea with Lady Washington. So, I found myself walking her home.

“Thank you, again, Alexander,” Eliza said softly, swinging her arms slightly from where she walked beside me.

I shook my head. “It’s my pleasure.” Eliza and I made eye contact before I averted my eyes.

After I’d had my revelation and I’d written to Miss Margarita Schuyler, I noticed that there always seemed to be a prevalent crackle of _something_ between Eliza and I.

I couldn’t quite decipher what exactly it was, but it was there and it always made me very acutely aware of what I was doing.

“Oh!” Eliza gasped, turning to look at me excitedly. “I received a letter from Angelica. She has informed me she should be able to visit in spring.”

I hummed. “If she’s as breathtaking as her younger sister…” Eliza’s cheek turned a shade of pink and she rolled her eyes at me.

Eliza suddenly stopped her walking and turned to look at me fully. “Why, Mr. Hamilton, it sounds as if you might be flirting.” 

I turned to face her, shrugging calmly, although my heart was racing. “And if I am?”

Eliza’s eyes widened a fraction, but a big smile broke out across her face. “Well, then I implore you to do something about it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” _What is she doing?_ I wondered. “What would you have me do?”

Eliza looked vaguely disheartened. “You must figure it out on your own.” She interlaced our fingers and we began to walk again, the only sounds the crunch of the snow under our boots.

When the Cochran’s house was in view, Eliza broke that silence. “Would you like to come in for tea?” 

I shook my head, despite how tempting it was. “I wish I could, I really do, but I have to work.”

Eliza nodded sadly. “I understand.” She inhaled deeply. “If I made you uncomfortable…”

My eyes widened. “No!” I rolled my shoulders, pinching my nose. “You did not make me uncomfortable. In fact, I… May I kiss you?”

Eliza’s jaw dropped. “Really?” Before I could respond, Eliza nodded enthusiastically. “Yes!” She cleared her throat and I bit down a laugh. “Please, kiss me.”

I didn’t need any more prompting. I leaned down, cupping Eliza’s cheek, and I pressed our lips together.

Kissing Eliza was so incredibly different from kissing John. Eliza was all soft curves where John was all sharp edges.

But I enjoyed kissing Eliza. I pulled her closer and Eliza threw her arms around my neck, leaning against me.

Eliza tasted like cherries and home. 

A thought passed through my mind, completely unsolicited, that I wanted to stay in Eliza’s arms forever. That thought was enough for me to snap back into reality.

I jumped back, causing Eliza to stumble forward slightly, pressing her fingers against her lips. I couldn’t do anything but stare ahead in horror.

What had I done?

I stepped back. “I— I have to go.” And, despite how undignified it was, I practically ran back to headquarters.

That night, I found myself at the tavern for the first time in days. My head was spinning, and I was trying my hardest not to focus on anything but the sting of whiskey as I swallowed.

But, as it had done my whole life, my brain kept thinking anyway.

What had I done?

Why had I kissed her? And, as I always did, I thought of John. I had trusted John— I had known him for far longer than I’d known Eliza— and he’d shattered my heart.

Why should things be any different with Eliza? Why did I allow it to go so far?

I rubbed my eyes, and I was struck with the desire to just cry. Yes, I wanted to cry.

I wanted to cry because of Eliza, who I had allowed myself to become attached to. I wanted to cry because of John, who had left me. I wanted to cry for _me,_ because I had never allowed myself to mourn anything.

I hadn’t cried when my father left us, I hadn’t cried at my mother’s funeral, I hadn’t cried when Peter died, and I hadn’t cried when James left me.

All of my life, I had pushed through, my emotions be damned. But now? I couldn’t take it anymore. I slammed payment on to the counter and I ran out of the tavern, collapsing into a nearby alley.

And I _sobbed_ for twenty three years of repressed emotions.

Everyone had always told me that crying was restorative and made one feel better.

All I felt was weak.

I did not see Eliza at headquarters the next day, or the day after that, which was enough for me to perhaps believe that Eliza felt the same thing I did: regret.

Unfortunately, while I was overthinking, I was, once again, called into Lady Washington’s entertaining room. “Colonel, I have a question for you,” she said in lieu of a proper greeting.

I shifted on my feet. “What is it?”

Lady Washington carefully stirred her tea, not looking at me. “Miss Schuyler was here yesterday.” I raised my eyebrows. Lady Washington continued. “She asked about you, and seemed quite disconsolate.”

I tapped my foot against the floor, my stomach churning. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

Lady Washington looked up at me. “Colonel, sit.” I hesitated. _“Sit.”_ I obeyed.

“Colonel, you like to avoid friendships and other relationships, am I correct?” I didn’t say anything. “Mr. Hamilton, you cannot live that way forever. You can’t preserve yourself from hurt forever.”

I thought of John’s words, said so long ago.

_You can’t keep everyone away. You will still be hurt. People aren’t gentle._

I hadn’t believed it then, and why should I believe it now, when I had been betrayed by the only person I’d ever allowed myself to truly love? “With all due respect—” I cut off. I didn’t have anything to say, for once.

I sighed, running my hands over my face. Why couldn’t everyone just leave me alone? Why? I hung my head, standing up. “Thank you for the advice,” I said, walking out of the room without another word.

I was unable to avoid Eliza the next day, as she openly walked into the aide’s bedroom. “Excuse me?” Tilghman, McHenry, and I looked up. I quickly returned to my letters.

“Miss Schuyler!” Tilghman exclaimed, much too excited for me to be anything but apprehensive. He hurried over to Eliza. “It’s a pleasure to see you. What can we do for you?”

I could feel Eliza’s eyes boring into the back of my head. “I’m here to talk to Colonel Hamilton,” she responded.

Tilghman frowned and shoved me lightly. “Hey, Hammie, the lady wants to speak to you. You can rest from your constant vigil by the window, waiting for a letter from Laurens.”

I balled my hands into fists. “Tilghman, remind me when I asked for you to tell me what to do?” I slowly and reluctantly stood up, walking over to Miss Schuyler. “Shall we?”

Eliza nodded stiffly. We hurried down the stairs, and I could feel my stomach flipping over and over until we were outside.

Eliza turned to face me. “What did I do wrong?” Her voice cracked painfully, and my throat constructed.

“Eliza, I… I’m sorry. I do like you, I really and truly do, but you don’t understand. I have never kept anyone—” Eliza placed a finger over my lips. As soon as she did, she retracted her hand, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry.” She straightened her back and looked up at me. “So, you ran because you feared the unknown and the consequences.”

I expected Eliza to do a lot of things. Maybe roll her eyes, maybe laugh, maybe even glare at me. What I did not expect for her to do was to take my hand. 

“Alexander, I understand that you’ve been hurt, and I trust you will tell me I’m your own time how, but I am not everyone you’ve met.” Eliza pushed her shoulders back, as if steeling herself. “I love you. And, if you’ll have me, I will stay.”

Logically, I knew that whatever was happening between Eliza and I was happening much too quickly. But I also didn’t care.

On a whim, I surged forward and captured Eliza’s lips with my own. She gasped and pulled me closer.

Yes, Eliza loved me, and that had never ended well. Yes, I was frightened because I didn’t even trust her completely. But I _wanted_ her and I loved her, however much of a fool that made me. 

This could be ruinous. And perhaps I would regret allowing myself to love the woman in my arms. It would all come crashing down at some point in time.

But, with Eliza’s soft lips against my own, I didn’t care. I wanted to be happy, and Eliza made me happy.

So Damn the consequences. Damn them all to hell.

The army had planned a dancing assembly on February twenty third, celebrating the army and Washington’s birthday.

However foolish it was, I found myself spending four hundred dollars on a subscription to said dancing assembly.

“Will you be attending the ball?” I asked Eliza, my arm around her waist as we simply walked aimlessly with no real destination in mind.

“Yes,” Eliza answered, leaning against me. “Kitty and I will both be attending. I’ll have to write to Angelica and tell her. She misses parties.”

“Oh?” I turned to look down at Eliza, twirling a strand of her hair around my index finger. “Why has she not been attending parties?”

Eliza sighed. “She gave birth in November and there haven’t been too many parties near where she lives. It’s why she’s been heckling her husband, Mr. Carter, to allow her to come to Morris Town.”

I nodded. “We will welcome her. But whatever will the men do?” I tutted. At Eliza’s confused expression, I elaborated. “The men will be falling over themselves with two Schuyler beauties.”

Eliza flushed pink. Despite having seen her blush multiple times by now, I still found it undeniably adorable and I couldn’t help pecking her lips.

Eliza swatted me playfully, but she was smiling. “Alexander, would you perhaps want to take me to the ball with me?” she asked.

I froze for a moment. Eliza wanted me to go with her? Before Eliza could take back her words, I squeezed her hip.

“Of course. Actually, I could come and take you and Kitty to the ball? I know how to drive a sleigh…” I hated how unsure I sounded.

Eliza grinned up at me, kissing my cheek. “Thank you. I will be awaiting your arrival by sleigh.”

It occurred to me, later that night, that I did not know how to drive a sleigh. I groaned. Tilghman, who was the only one still in the aide’s office, looked up abruptly.

“What is it?” he asked, turning to face me.

I bit my lip. “I offered to drive Miss Schuyler and Miss Livingston to the ball via sleigh. I seemed to have forgotten that I cannot drive a sleigh.” Before I even finished speaking, Tilghman was howling with laughter.

I glared flatly at him. Then, I realized something: Tilghman did know how to drive a sleigh. “Tilghman, my dear friend—”

Tilghman stopped laughing. “What is it that you want from me?”

Well, at least he was blunt about it. “Would you drive the women?”

Tilghman let out a groan. “Why would I do that? So I can watch you be besotted by Miss Schuyler and vice versa?” He blew out a dry laugh. “No thank you.”

I moved towards Tilghman. “Please, Tench? I’ll pay you, and Miss Livingston is still yet to be wed!” I grabbed his arm. “Please?”

Tilghman glared at me for all of a few seconds before I could see him visibly relent.

The next morning, I penned a letter to Eliza and Kitty about the change in plans.

“Col Hamiltons compliments to Miss Livingston and Miss Schuyler. He is sorry to inform them that his zeal for their service make him forget that he is so bad a Charioteer as hardly to dare to trust himself with so precious a charge; though if he were only to consult his own wishes like Phaeton he would assemble the chariot of the sun, if he were sure of experiencing the same fate. Col Tilghman offers himself a volunteer. Col Hamilton is unwilling to lose the pleasure of the party; but one or the other will have the honor to attend the ladies.”

A letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler and Catherine Livingston, undated

On February twenty third—a Wednesday— Tilghman and I found ourselves pulling up to the Cochran’s house on a clear, starry night.

I jumped out of the sleigh, pulling on the gloves Eliza had made me. I clapped Tilghman’s shoulder. “You’re a good man.” I walked towards the door, knocking lightly. 

From inside, I could hear mumbling and a loud noise. Suddenly, Kitty opened the door and Eliza followed her.

“Hello,” I said softly to Eliza, bowing low to kiss the palm of her hand. Eliza smiled down at me, looking a little nervous.

“Let us go,” she whispered, intertwining our arms. Once we reached the sleigh, I offered Eliza my hand. Surprisingly she took it, squeezing my thumb.

I followed after her, sitting down beside Tilghman, who slapped the reigns, setting us off to the barn turned ballroom.

Once we arrived, thoroughly chilled through, Tilghman and I jumped up, offering to help the ladies down. Unlike before, Eliza jumped down on her own, smiling sweetly.

I faux glared at her, and Eliza took my arm and led me towards the barn. 

Surprisingly, they had managed to turn the mangy barn into quite a ballroom. Lanterns hung from the ceilings, elegant tables with food and drinks were placed on every other wall, and a string quartet played boisterously in the right corner.

“Wow,” I gasped, my eyes widening not of my own accord. When I turned to see Eliza’s reaction, she was looking at me.

Eliza quickly turned her head, causing me to have to bite down a laugh. She was, quite frankly, adorable.

I led Eliza to a nearby servant, grabbing two glasses of champagne. “Here.” 

Eliza took a sip. “Thank you.” 

The first dance of the night was with General Washington and Lucy Knox, General Knox’s wife, as she was the highest ranking woman in attendance.

As I watched them dance, I felt my stomach churn, and I was forcibly reminded that I wasn’t born into this crowd.

I couldn’t waltz, and it didn’t matter how tall I stood or how eloquently I spoke. I didn’t belong here with these people.

“Alexander, would you like to dance?” Eliza asked, once Washington and Mrs. Knox had finished their dance. 

I shook my head. “No, I think I’ll miss this one.” I looked behind Eliza to where Tilghman was closely watching her. “I do think Colonel Tilghman would like to dance with you.”

Eliza’s face fell, and she nodded. “I’ll dance with him and then I’ll be right back.” I watched Eliza walk towards Tilghman and I watched with jealousy as he spun her on the dance floor.

“She doesn’t want to dance with him,” Kitty said, suddenly beside me. I startled, glaring at her.

“Does she now?”

Kitty sighed. “You can’t expect her to know you can’t dance. I’ll take a gander and say she doesn’t know of your upbringing.”

My blood ran cold and I turned to Kitty. “What do you know about my upbringing?” I could hear the ice in my tone. 

Kitty raised her hands in the air. “Calm, Alexander. If you need a reminder, you stayed with my family for some time. My father looked into you. You were raised in poverty.”

I glared at my shoes. I never would overcome my childhood, would I? It haunted my every breath and step. I’d been an idiot to ever dare to believe otherwise. I’d always be the bastard orphan. 

“Exactly.” I gestured to Eliza and Tilghman, who were elegantly twirling and spinning on the dance floor. 

Kitty rolled her eyes so hard I wondered if they might disappear behind her eyelids. “Alexander, Eliza wants you. And if you really want to give her the best life, I say you tell her of your impoverished childhood. It’s not that bad, truly.”

I snorted, because Kitty didn’t know the half of it. But I bobbed my head, allowing Kitty to think I was relenting. Right as the dance ended, Eliza bounded up to me.

“Dance with me.” I shook my head and she pouted, making me truly wish that I could I could dance with her. Kitty looked at me slyly and walked away. 

I shook my head. “Betsey, do you think we could talk outside? Away from everyone?” Eliza’s eyes widened and she paled slightly.

“Alright,” she said. I began walking towards the exit, Eliza in tow. We grabbed our coats and jumped into the sleigh.

“What is it?” Eliza asked, wrapping her hands in her muff. “Is everything alright?”

I shook my head. “I have something I must tell you.” Eliza shuffled closer to me, taking my hand, squeezing it encouragingly.

So I began to speak. I told her of how I was born out of wedlock. I told her of the mental cloudiness of fever. Of my mother’s funeral and how I didn’t cry. Of James, of Ned, and of every single blow that had made me into the shattered man I was today.

At the end of the sordid tale, Eliza was staring blankly at the floor, and my face was buried in my hands.

I waited for Eliza to speak. She did not for a long while, but she didn’t let go of her grasp on my hand either. “Is that everything?” she finally asked. I nodded, for I didn’t trust myself to speak.

Eliza closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly. I wondered if she was struggling to find a polite way to leave, when she took me by surprise and kissed me gently. “I still love you, Alexander Hamilton.”

I scoffed, and Eliza cupped my cheek. “I love you. You are not your childhood. I see you now, I see your brains, your wit, your kindness. I see _you,_ regardless of the less than nice details of your childhood. You’re still the man I love. Just… a little cracked.”

I dropped my head, planting a kiss onto Eliza’s palm. “I love you, too.” When I gathered the courage to look up at Eliza, she was beaming brightly.

“Marry me,” Eliza blurted out. As soon as she’d spoke, she slapped her hand over her mouth, and I stared at her, blinking rapidly. 

“I’m sorry!” Eliza squeaked. “I’ve ruined things! Oh god… I wanted you to ask because of the war! I’ve been waiting for you to ask, but you haven’t. You could die at any minute—”

I grabbed Eliza’s cheeks and I pressed our lips together. Once we broke apart, I whispered, “Come.” 

I took Eliza’s hand and led her to the side of the barn, dropping down on one knee and kissing her small hand. “If you’ve been awaiting my asking, then ask I shall. Elizabeth Schuyler, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Eliza was openly crying, rubbing her eyes. Finally, she nodded. Once I had stood, Eliza launched herself at me, pressing our lips together. Luckily, Eliza was light, allowing me to hold her in mid air.

And, for the first time in many days, I felt contentedly, utterly, and unabashedly joyous.

Unfortunately, before I could write to Philip Schuyler, asking him for Eliza’s hand, I was forced to follow commissioners sent by Washington to Amboy, New Jersey to take minutes at a prisoner exchange.

So, with much reluctance, I bid Eliza farewell and off I went.

We arrived in Amboy after about a week. We met with the commissioners sent on behalf of British General Henry Clinton.

It was agreed that the limits of the neutral ground should extend about three miles around Amboy, as well as the town as a whole.

Despite our opposing sides, we often dined with the British officers. Usually I toasted Peggy, but I often found myself unable to recount what had been said in a conversation, for thoughts of Eliza consumed nearly every waking moment.

On the seventeenth, we believed that only two or three more data would end the exchange. That night, I sat down at my portable writing desk and began to pen a letter to Eliza, to my Betsey.

Oh, how I wished for this to end so I could return to Eliza.

“My Betseys soul speaks in every line and bids me be the happiest of mortals. I am so and will be so. You give me too many proofs of your love to allow me to doubt it and in the conviction that I possess that, I possess every thing the world can give. The good Meade had the kindness to tell me that you received my letter with apparent marks of joy and that you retired with eagerness to read it. Tis from circumstances like these we best discover the true sentiments of the heart. Yours upon every occasion testifies that it is intirely mine. But notwithstanding all I have to thank you and to love you for, I have a little quarrel with you. I will not permit you to say you do not deserve the preference I give you, you deserve all I think of you and more and let me tell you your diffidence with so many charms is an unpardonable amiableness.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, 03/17/1780

When I returned to Morris Town a few days later, Eliza had— unfortunately— already left for Philadelphia to briefly stay with her father, who was in Congress.

Luckily, Eliza returned to Morris Town a few days after I had returned, her father with her. And so, I found myself pacing outside of General Schuyler’s office in the house he’d rented.

“Alexander, stop pacing ,” Eliza admonished gently, looking up from her hands. “I’m sure he’ll like you. He did before.”

I laughed, tapping my hands against my thighs. “That was before I was asking to marry his daughter!” I snapped. Instantly, I rushed over to Eliza. “I’m sorry for snapping.”

Eliza stroked my face. “I forgive you. And even if he says no, we could always elope…”

I shook my head resolutely. “No. I grew up without honor. I promised myself years ago I would never again be without honor. There is nothing honorable about elopement.”

Besides, there was a stigma attached to elopement, much like the stigma attached to children born out of wedlock… 

Eliza nodded, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I understand.”

For the next few minutes, I simply sat by Eliza, my head on her shoulder as she sewed. Finally, Mr. Schuyler opened the door to his office, and Eliza and I stood.

“Colonel Hamilton,” he said stiffly, shaking my hand.

“General Schuyler.”

“Papa,” Eliza said, kissing her father’s cheek. Mr. Schuyler visibly softened as Eliza did so. When Eliza stepped back, Mr. Schuyler turned to me.

“Come.” I followed Mr. Schuyler into his office, sitting down at the edge of the settee he directed me towards.

Mr. Schuyler sat down across from me, placing his hands over his legs. “So, you’ve come to ask for my second eldest daughter’s hand?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. I have.”

Mr. Schuyler hummed. “Why?”

I shifted uncomfortably. _Why?_ Why did I want to marry her? “Because I love her. She is beautiful and kind and I am the happiest in her company.” I shocked myself by the veracity and emotion in my words.

Mr. Schuyler softened only slightly. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure you know of my eldest daughter’s elopement, and my wife and I would very much like to avoid that particular pain. I must say, thank you for asking.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t have gone ahead without your blessing.”

Mr. Schuyler frowned. “Really?”

I nodded. “Sir, there are some things I must disclose, in the favor of truth.” I steeled myself, telling Mr. Schuyler of my illegitimacy and everything else.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment that seemed to last forever. Finally, Mr. Schuyler sighed and my heart dropped.

“Colonel, I think you are an honorable man, a good soldier, and a fantastic aide. I admire your honesty. I will write to Miss Schuyler.”

I was barely able to conceal my joy.

As nervous as I was over waiting for the answer from Philip Schuyler as to whether Eliza and I could be wed, there was a matter much more pressing on my mind: John.

On the fourteenth of February, despite the letter only just reaching us, John requested our help with the situation in South Carolina.

Also with the letters to Washington were two to me. But I couldn’t focus on them. All I could focus on was that this could be my chance. To further prove myself in glory.

“Your Excellency,” I said slowly, “should we send reinforcements to the South?”

Washington didn’t even hesitate, shaking his head. “No.” I gaped. 

“Sir, you’ve read the letter—”

Washington nodded. “So I have. Colonel, I have made my decision. Now, go.” Instead, I shook my head. John needed us, the south needed us, and I wanted to fight.

“Please, sir—”

Washington’s face contorted in frustration. “What do you not understand about ‘no’? Colonel, we don’t have the funds. It’s as simple as that.”

I slammed my hand on Washington’s desk. I had made my choice, and I would not back down without a fight.

“They need us, sir! We are not fighting here. The south—”

“Can handle themselves!” Washington bellowed, standing up. “It is my choice, and I say no.” He glared down at me.

“We could send a detachment and collect the remainder at West Point! We could allot some of the money to going south!” I kept speaking as if Washington hadn’t.

Washington laughed humorously. “Do you _think?_ Battles will be coming to the north! You will not convince me to send troops south so you can indulge your childish fantasy of dying like a martyr.”

I dug my nails into my hands. I hated that I didn’t oppose the idea of dying in glory, despite the fact that I had someone waiting for me.

“Yes, I do want to fight,” I admitted, my voice rising in volume. “But the south does need us! If you don’t send troops, at least send me to help! I’ve worked faithfully for so long!”

Washington rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’ve worked and I’m grateful. But I won’t see you struck down by a bullet!”

“Please, sir! The others have gotten to fight, why not I?” I knew that I should not have brought up my desire to fight, but I couldn’t push it down any longer.

I had served as an aide. Didn’t I deserve to fight? A few skirmishes and glimpses of battle everyone once and a while weren’t enough.

“Sir, I deserve to be able to fight! All I want is a chance to prove myself!” My voice was quickly becoming shrill, but I was beyond caring. “If I wish to be struck down by a bullet, it’s my choice—”

“Enough!” Washington yelled, glaring at me. “Get out, Hamilton. Come back tomorrow, hopefully calmer. It’s getting late.”

I stormed out of the room, grabbing my two letters from John, and slammed the door behind me. Instead of going to the aide’s room, I walked outside, sitting on the porch.

Washington didn’t understand. I could be getting married soon, if the Schuylers accepted me.

Philip Schuyler wouldn’t want his daughter to marry a poor man. I needed to prove myself, and, as had happened before, the best way to do that was to fight.

I sighed loudly. Eliza would understand. John would understand.

When I wrote to John that night, I told him of what I’d do if given the chance to send out troops, but I didn’t mention Eliza.

I didn’t know whether to feel guilty or not about that.

“Adieu my Dear; I am sure you will exert yourself to save your country; but do not unnecessarily risk one of its most valuable sons. Take as much care of yourself as you ought for the public sake and for the sake of

Yr. affectionate.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, 03/30/1780

Angelica Schuyler Carter arrived in Morristown in early April, two servants following her, each holding a child, and at least six trunks with her.

“Betsey!” she cried, setting down her parasol and running to Eliza, who ran up to her as well. Eliza threw herself at Angelica, and only then did I notice that she was crying.

“Angelica!” Eliza stepped back, observing Angelica, a wide smile on her beautiful face. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

Angelica laughed lightly, kissing Eliza’s cheeks. “I’m glad to be here as well. Now, where is your soldier?”

Angelica turned to me and I waved, striding up to her and kissing the back of her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Carter.” 

Angelica raised an eyebrow at me, turning to Eliza. “He is as charming as you said in your letters.” Eliza flushed, placing her hand over Angelica's.

“You two will be the best of friends, I can tell,” Eliza said, beaming brightly and looking between the two of us. “Oh! Angelica, where is Mr. Carter?”

The wide smile which had been adorning Angelica’s face dropped for but a moment before it was back. “He is still working.” She waved her hand flippantly. “But enough of that. You must meet my children!”

The two servant girls hurried up to Angelica and handed her a little boy who couldn’t have been more than two, and handed Eliza a baby girl.

“This is Philip, but I call him Pip.” Angelica kissed the side of Pip’s head. Promptly, he buried his face in his mother’s neck.

“This must be little Catherine!” Eliza squealed, bouncing Catherine on her hip. Surprisingly, the sight made my breath hitch in my throat.

Angelica nodded. “Yes. She’s barely five months old.” Eliza grinned and little Catherine let out a yell, waving her arms.

“She’s beautiful,” I said. Angelica looked at me curiously, her eyes narrowed only slightly. I looked right back at her.

“Let us go inside,” Eliza interrupted mine and Angelica’s staring contest, causing me to look away from Angelica.

“Of course, my darling girl,” I answered, grabbing two of Angelica’s trunks and carrying them inside.

“Thank you,” Angelica said, beckoning me into the parlor. I did so, walking into the room and sitting down beside Eliza.

One of Angelica’s servants and one of the Cochran’s took Pip and little Catherine and carried them from the room.

“Oh, wait!” Angelica gasped, placing a hand on the servant’s forearm. “Could I trouble you to fetch us tea? Thank you.”

The servant nodded. “Yes, Miss.” She scurried from the room and Angelica turned to Eliza and I, who were sitting on the couch opposite the one Angelica sat on.

“So, I believe congratulations are in order,” Angelica said, looking between us, where there was virtually no space between Eliza and I.

Eliza shook her head. “Not yet. We have not received a letter saying we may be wed.” Eliza sighed. “I hope the letter may come soon.

Angelica pursed her lips. “What will stop them?” I tilted my head in confusion. “I mean only that you are an aide to General Washington— and a brilliant one at that.”

I shifted. As true as that was, I was also illegitimate, an immigrant, and an orphan with no money. The better question was why _would_ they accept our union?

I was broken from my thoughts by Eliza’s steady hand on my knee. “I hope that a response may come soon,” I answered, my voice level.

Before Angelica could respond, the servant girl walked into the room, setting down a tea tray, curtsying, and leaving as soon as she’d come.

Once tea had been poured, Angelica turned to me. “So, our dear Eliza has told me you speak French. Do you?”

I nodded. _“Oui, Mme Carter. Le faites vous?”_

The corners of Angelica’s lips turned upwards as she sipped her tea. _“Je fais aussi bien. J'ai appris en tant que fille. Votre accent est différent, je dois l'admettre.”_

Angelica looked in my eyes. _“Est-ce votre langue maternelle?”_

I thought of my French mother and I shrugged. _“Dans un sens. Ma mère parlait français, mon père anglais. J'ai grandi en entendant les deux.”_

Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Knew? Is she no longer with you?”

I nodded stiffly, pushing thoughts of that awful sick bed and of sweat soaked sheets from my mind. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Right as Angelica opened her mouth, Eliza coughed pointedly. “Before you two begin speaking French again, need I remind you not everyone speaks the language?”

Angelica immediately closed her mouth. “I’m sorry, my dear child.” 

Eliza shook her head fondly. “I’m only a year younger than you, Angelica. I can take care of myself…” She trailed off when Angelica giggled.

“You’ll always be my responsibility, little sister.” Angelica stood up and kissed the top of Eliza’s head. 

Later that night, when I had walked out of the door, ready to head back to headquarters, Angelica stepped outside of the house.

“Colonel.” She grabbed my arm, looking me in the eyes as she spoke. “I just wanted to congratulate you.”

I narrowed my eyebrows. “Congratulate me for _what_ exactly?” 

Angelica grinned, squeezing my arm lightly. “You have passed my test. I, of course, can’t guarantee that my parents will accept your request for Betsey’s hand, but you have my approval. Be good to her.”

I nodded. “I love her. I’ll do my best to never hurt her.”

Angelica breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Eliza is…” Angelica waved a hand in the air, as if she could conjure the words she needed from thin air. “Trusting. Not as trusting as one may believe at first glance, but trusting all the same. She is stronger than she looks, but she can still be hurt.”

I gulped and Angelica continued. “She trusts you, and I would hate to see her hurt. So, please, be gentle.”

“I will.” 

Angelica closed her eyes, bobbing her head up and down slowly. “Thank you. Goodnight, Colonel.” With that, she went inside, leaving me alone with only my thoughts.

I had meant what I’d said. I never wanted to cause Eliza any hurt. And, in that moment, I made a promise to myself that I’d never make Eliza feel anything but joy.

Oh, how I wish it was a promise that I’d been able to keep.

About a week later, while I was at the Cochran’s, watching Eliza draw, Angelica entered the room, holding a letter in hand.

“This arrived for you, Colonel, from our father. A rider decided to bring it here from headquarters, and he told me to give you his best wishes.” Eliza and I scrambled to Angelica, and I snatched the letter up. Eliza clutched my hand as I opened the letter.

I skimmed the letter, both Eliza and Angelica watching me closely. “They say yes,” I finally whispered. 

Eliza let out a squeal, throwing herself at me. I kissed her deeply, not even caring that Angelica was likely watching.

When we broke apart, Angelica walked towards us, kissing both mine and Eliza’s cheeks. “Welcome to the family, Colonel.”

I shook my head. “Call me Alexander. We are to be family.”

Angelica nodded and Eliza kissed my cheek, still smiling. “We’re to be wed!” Eliza cheered, kissing me again.

I pulled her closer to me, resting my hands on her hips as the truth of the matter finally came to me. We were to _wed._

Finally, I was going to be a part of a family. When Eliza and I broke apart, I cupped her cheek.

I cupped the cheek of Eliza, my future wife. 

“Yesterday I had the pleasure to receive a line from Mrs Schuyler in answer to mine on the subject of the one you delivered me at Morris town; she consents to Comply with your and her daughters wishes. You will see the Impropriety of taking the dernier pas where you are. Mrs. Schuyler did not see her Eldest daughter married. That also gave me pain, and we wish not to Experience It a Second time.”

Excerpt of a letter from Philip Schuyler to Alexander Hamilton, 04/08/1780

Roughly a week or so later, Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler, as well as the rest of the Schuylers, arrived in Morris Town, taking lodgings there.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Mrs. Schuyler greeted me, holding a little girl’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, finally.”

I clasped her free hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, too, Mrs. Schuyler. “And this must be little Cornelia.”

Mrs. Schuyler nodded. “Yes. Although, she’s not so little anymore.” Cornelia huffed loudly and said something to her mother in a low voice. Mrs. Schuyler smiled contritely. “You must excuse me.”

I watched as she walked off. Immediately, an older girl approached me. I quickly recognized her as Margarita Schuyler.

“Miss Margarita Schuyler.” I kissed her hand and she rolled her eyes. “It’s so nice to see you again. You’ve only grown more lovely.”

Margarita rolled her eyes. “Watch yourself, Colonel, that sounds mysteriously like flirting.” I laughed, as did Margarita.

“Me flirting?” I shook my head. “I am in love, Margarita! I love another.” 

Margarita scoffed, lightly swatting my shoulder. “Don’t call me Margarita. You have to call me Peggy.”

I nodded. “Of course, _Peggy.”_

Peggy grinned. Eliza was suddenly at my elbow, looking between Peggy and I. “I’m glad you two are acquainted. But I hate to say this, Alexander, my dear, this will be your last moment of peace.”

I frowned. “Meaning?”

Eliza and Peggy exchanged amused looks. “John Bradstreet is _dying_ to join the army. He’s ought to have a hundred questions for you,” Eliza revealed.

Peggy snorted. “That’s a vast understatement. The whole ride here he was recounting stories of your bravery. He’ll likely talk to you the whole dinner.”

Although I didn’t believe it then, Eliza and Peggy weren’t lying. The whole dinner he talked to me, asking me questions.

“Is it true that your horse was shot out from under you at Monmouth?” Bradstreet asked excitedly.

I nodded, pride seeping into my words. “Yes.”

Mrs. Schuyler glared at Bradstreet. “John Bradstreet, for the hundredth time, war is not a dinner topic. Now, please, eat your food.”

Bradstreet puffed out a breath, taking a frustrated bite of potatoes. I pushed down the laugh bubbling within me at his expression with a sip of wine. Beside me, Eliza gave me a look as if to say ‘I told you so’. 

Once dinner had ended and I’d said goodbye, Eliza led me to the front door. “They liked you,” she said, putting my coat on me, smoothing a wrinkle. “I’m so glad.”

“As am I.” I put on the gloves Eliza had made for me, wrapping my arms around her waist as she giggled. “Elizabeth Schuyler, my future wife.”

“Elizabeth Hamilton,” Eliza mused. “I like how it sounds.”

My stomach flipped and I leaned down to kiss her, sighing contentedly into it. Everything was going so well.

I wondered how soon it would be before everything would come crashing down around me.

About a month later, in mid May, I was writing in the aide’s room when everything did come crashing down. Lafayette— who had since returned from France where he had procured six thousand soldiers for our cause— was sitting beside me when Meade entered the room, holding a letter.

“Charles Town has fallen,” he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, we know,” I responded, thinking of the news we’d gotten earlier in April.

Meade sighed. “No, you don’t understand. Laurens...” I froze in my writing. _Laurens?_ _But…_

“What of Laurens?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat. Beside me, Lafayette gasped, a gloved hand going over his chest.

Meade nodded. “He had been taken as a prisoner of war on May twelfth.”

Washington said something, but it didn’t make sense to me. Breathing was becoming harder and I couldn’t focus on anything but the single thought that was running through my brain. The thought that cried: _John was captured, John was captured, John was captured…_

I should’ve known that everything would come crashing down very quickly and when I least expected it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next chapter should be up in a few days. Also, I published a one shot in this series’ works. It’s Hamilton and Angelica’s meeting from Angelica’s POV. If you’d be so kind as to check it out and leave feedback, I’d really appreciate it! And, I just wanted to say, thank you for all of the comments and kudos! They’re a great motivation to write! Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. We don’t know the context behind the sleigh story, just that it happened, so the context is all fiction.  
> 2\. Hamilton’s words about what he’d do to send troops down south are paraphrased from a letter to Laurens.  
> 3\. Eliza did not speak French. At least not fluently.  
> 4\. I never mentioned it, but Lafayette had gone to Paris to procure soldiers. He returned to America, arriving in Boston, on April 27, 1780.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you, again, for all of the comments and kudos, (they make my day and are a great motivation to write!) and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 1780-December 14, 1780

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Side note: There is French in this chapter. Here is the translation:  
> “please don't leave me, the only other person I loved left me.”
> 
> Also: there is smut in this chapter! If you’d like to skip it, skip from: “ Finally, we pulled apart for air...“ to “ “Thank you,” Eliza said...”

_May 1780, Morris Town, New Jersey_

I swayed slightly, grabbing the table beside me for stability. When had I stood up? I couldn’t focus on anything.

_John was captured, John was captured, John was captured…_

“Hamilton?” Meade asked, placing a hand on my arm. I stumbled back, slamming into Lafayette, my breath coming out in shallow spurts.

I could vaguely see Washington watching me closely in confusion, but I didn’t have it in me to care at all. John, John, John…

I rubbed my eyes, blocking out everyone’s eyes upon me. A small mercy was that I wasn’t crying, at the very least. 

“Alexander, let us go outside, _non?”_ Lafayette mumbled, holding my wrists. His words seemed to snap me out of my trance and I stepped up to Washington.

“We have to make a trade for him,” I said, my arms crossed over my chest. “Please, make a trade for him.” I hated the raw desperation in my voice, but I couldn’t push it back.

Washington looked down at me, his expression almost sad. “Colonel Hamilton, go with the Marquis. You need to relax.”

I shook my head. “Sir, please! Laurens is a good soldier, and his father used to be the President of Congress—”

“Hamilton,” Washington said, his tone final. “Go outside.” Before I could continue to protest, Lafayette grabbed my arm and led me out of the room.

“He’ll die,” I gasped, once we arrived in the empty aide’s bedroom, Lafayette setting me down gently on my bed and closing the door behind us, locking it with a ‘click’. “Are you all content to let him die?”

The idea of John dead— vibrant, sanguine, full of potential John— sent a strike of terror through my heart.

“He won’t die.” Lafayette rubbed my shoulders, and I found myself leaning into the touch. “It is as you said, his father used to be President of Congress. It is unlikely he’ll be sentenced to a prison ship.”

I let out a choked sob. John could die… He could die without ever knowing I was to be wed… Maybe it was better he died without knowing that.

“I’m awful,” I sobbed, wrapping my arms right around my chest, trying— in vain— to breathe steadily. “I betrayed John. I am to wed Eliza. I’m horrible.”

“No, no, you’re not.” Lafayette stroked my hair, shushing me as he did. “You love Miss Schuyler. It is not wrong to move on.”

I shook my head. “No, I— you don’t understand.” I inhaled deeply, looking right into Lafayette’s wide, brown eyes. “I still love John, as I love Eliza.”

Lafayette nodded slowly, comprehending the news. “Well… I think you should tell him of your engagement to Miss Schuyler.”

I stared at him blankly, incredulous. “Are you insane? Like John needs more reason to be depressed!”

Lafayette sighed. “I will leave you alone. But think on what I said.” He stood up and patted my head, leaving the room.

I sagged against the bed, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. Oh God, John… My Laurens.

I found myself at the tavern that night, drowning my sorrows in ale and whiskey. I tried hard, very hard, not to think of John, his blue eyes dimming…

I rolled my shoulders, ordering another glass of whiskey. 

Unfortunately, as life forces us to do, I moved on. I spent time with Eliza and the family, I wrote for Washington, and I awaited a letter from Laurens.

Finally, spring bled into summer, and on June seventh, seventeen eighty, the army left Morris Town.

I was placing my bags over my horse’s saddle when Eliza ran up to me, out of breath, Peggy strolling leisurely behind her.

“Alexander!” Eliza cried, grabbing my arm. “I thought that I had missed you. I wanted to say farewell.”

I smiled down at Eliza, cupping her cheek and looking into her beautiful brown eyes, brimming with unshed ears.

“Don’t cry, my sweet girl,” I said, stroking her cheek. Eliza grasped my wrist, squeezing it lightly. 

“I love you. Return to me.” Eliza kissed the inside of my wrist, unfortunately letting go of me. Immediately, her hands went to grab my coat. 

I wiped her cheeks, where a tear had begun to make its mournful path down her cheek. “I love you as well. Remember, Betsey, it’s only until autumn. Then we’ll be reunited and wed.”

Eliza nodded, leaning up on her tiptoes to press our lips together. While I held her, I tried to memorize the taste of her lips and the feel of my hands on her little waist.

Unfortunately, as all things must, we pulled apart. I stroked Eliza’s cheek and jumped up onto my horse.

“Don’t forget to write!” I called. Eliza nodded, stepping back, where Peggy placed an arm around her waist. I slapped the reins on my horse and set off.

I ignored the thought that reminded me that this could be the last time I saw her.

We stopped in Ramapo, New Jersey on June twenty ninth. Immediately, the thought came to me, prompted by Lafayette, that I should write to John about my engagement.

“Really, tell him,” Lafayette pushed, knocking our shoulders together from where he sat next to me in the empty aide’s writing room.

“Why are you so insistent that I tell him?” I asked, rubbing my eyes, looking at Lafayette deeply, as if I could obtain the answers in his deep brown eyes.

Lafayette shrugged. “I wish for you to tell him because he deserves to know. When he returns—” I was grateful that he said _when_ instead of _if._ “—it will hurt him more to suddenly be told that you’re married! He deserves the truth.”

I looked skeptically at the blank piece of parchment that Lafayette had pushed in my direction. He sighed. “Remember when you found out about Mrs. Laurens?”

I stilled. “That’s different,” I bit out. “He was already married and has a child! I’m not yet married.”

Lafayette nodded, jumping up. “Yes! You are not yet married, but if you wait, you might be when our Laurens finds out.”

I nodded, conceding to Lafayette’s point. Perhaps he was right. Besides, Laurens and I both knew that our relationship couldn’t last forever. Maybe he’d be glad that I was to be wed. I deserved a chance at a family, right?

I nodded, dipping my quill in the ink pot. “I’ll write to him,” I announced. Lafayette clapped, but made no move to leave me alone. “Could I have some time alone?” 

“Oh!” Lafayette gasped, nodding. “I’ll leave you be!” He left the room and I turned to my letter.

About an hour later, I realized that I had written so much, and I hadn’t even mentioned Eliza. I inhaled, moving to write, but my quill froze over the parchment.

Why was this so hard?

I shook my head, beginning to write. Everything would be alright between John and I. It had to be. 

I wasn’t sure I could take it if it didn’t.

“Have you not heard that I am on the point of becoming a benedict? I confess my sins. I am guilty. Next fall completes my doom. I give up my liberty to Miss Schuyler. She is a good hearted girl who I am sure will never play the termagant; though not a genius she has good sense enough to be agreeable, and though not a beauty, she has fine black eyes—is rather handsome and has every other requisite of the exterior to make a lover happy. And believe me, I am lover in earnest, though I do not speak of the perfections of my Mistress in the enthusiasm of Chivalry.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, 06/30/1780

I didn’t receive a letter from Laurens until July thirtieth. He never mentioned Eliza, and I wondered if he’d even read that part.

Despite that, I pushed on as I always had, writing to Eliza in my spare free time. The more I was away from her, the more I longed for her.

I longed for her sweet smile, her soft lips, and her soothing voice. I missed Eliza.

Luckily, not everything was awful. On July twentieth, the first French fleet arrived in Newport, New Jersey. And, on June twenty third, another aide was hired, David Humphreys.

Despite the fact that that was good news for the army and our staff, I felt myself slipping into a depression again. I hated Congress for being incompetent, I hated the army for being foolish, I hated the world for causing me so much pain, and I hated myself.

I hated everything, and all I longed for was for my separation with Eliza to end. Despite our hopes for an autumn wedding, I had begun to think that it wouldn’t happen until winter, as September came.

I wanted her something to _happen._ Everything seemed stagnant, and I wanted something to occur, something to break up the monotony that was daily life.

And, oh, did something happen.

“I was once determined to let my existence and American liberty end together. My Betsey has given me a motive to outlive my pride, I had almost said my honor; but America must not be witness to my disgrace. As it is always well to be prepared for the worst, I talk to you in this strain; not that I think it probable we shall fail in the contest; for notwithstanding all our perplexities, I think the chances are without comparison in our favour; and that my Aquileia and I will plant our turnips in her native land.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, 09/06/1780

On the morning of September twenty fifth, after meeting with Comte de Rochambeau, the Chevalier de Ternay, and other French officers, we— Washington, Brigadier General Henry Knox, Lafayette, McHenry, and I— arrived at Benedict Arnold’s headquarters, a few miles from West Point, which we’d come to inspect.

McHenry and I were sent ahead to prep things for breakfast. “General Arnold,” I greeted, shaking his hand. “I am Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton, and this is Lieutenant Colonel James McHenry.”

McHenry grinned, bowing his head. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

Arnold smiled, waving inside the hall. “Come, please.” He snapped at a servant. “Coffee?”

I nodded. “Yes, please.” I sat down and took a cup, taking a long drink and relishing the warmness. McHenry and I were given porridge, eggs, and sausage, eating in silence.

“When will General Washington arrive?” Arnold asked, his eyes flitting around the room. 

McHenry and I exchanged looks. “It shan’t be long now,” McHenry answered, shoveling eggs into his mouth.

I rolled my eyes. For the next few minutes, we were again plunged into silence, when suddenly Arnold received a letter, opening it.

I watched as his eyes practically bulged out of his head and he clutched the edge of the table. “Sir?” I spoke up. “Is everything alright?”

Arnold did not respond to me, instead jumping up out of his seat, shoving the message into his coat pocket, and running upstairs.

“What was that?” McHenry asked. I craned my head around the corridor, hoping that I could see exactly where Arnold had run off to.

Finally, I sat back, shrugging. “I have no clue.” 

Soon after, Arnold dashed back downstairs, his face contorted in anger. Before I could ask what exactly had him so agitated, Arnold shrugged on his coat. 

“Sir!” I yelled, hurrying after Arnold as he left the house. “You have to show General Washington West Point! Sir!”

McHenry placed a hand on my shoulder. “Stop yelling, Ham. He’s gone.” McHenry whistled slowly, walking away. “Wonder where he’s gone off to.”

“Yes,” I mumbled. I shook my head and closed the door behind me as I went back inside, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was _wrong._ Very, very wrong.

Washington arrived only a few minutes later, Lafayette and Knox in tow. 

“Where is General Arnold?” Lafayette asked upon seeing McHenry and I sitting alone at his dinner table.

“He received a message,” I said, standing up, my hands clasped behind my back. “He became very agitated and left.” I turned to Washington. “I’m sure that he’ll be back in time for your tour of West Point, Your Excellency.”

Washington nodded stiffly, sitting down at the table, his expression unreadable. “I do hope he will be there.”

I nodded, walking over to Arnold’s aide, Colonel Varick. “Do you know what the message might have said?” I asked, lowering my voice.

Varick shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, sir.” I waved my hand, walking back to the table in frustration.

When Washington left sometime later for his West Point tour, I stayed behind to sort dispatches. Beside me, Colonel Varick did the same.

All was silent until, from upstairs, there was a loud crash, followed by a high pitched shriek. I turned to Varick questioningly.

Varick cautiously stood up, grabbing the pistol on the table and cocking it, walking up the stairs slowly. 

I stood up, watching as Varick disappeared upstairs. There was silence for a moment. Then, a crash and a scream.

I hurried to the edge of the stairs, waiting until there was silence, then I ran up the stairs to the door that was ajar.

In that room stood Mrs. Arnold, clutching her baby and babbling incoherently. “You!” She pointed her thin finger at me. “You’ve come to assist him in killing my baby!” 

“Ma’am,” I stepped forward and Mrs. Arnold shrieked, staring at the walls with wide eyes. Varick looked as confused as I felt.

“They will place hot irons on my head!” She twirled around the room, her eyes wide in fright. “In the walls!”

She collapsed against the bed and her baby, then somehow still asleep, woke up with a little cry. I grabbed Varick’s arm, leading him just outside of the room.

“What in the hell was that?” I snarled, gesturing inside the room where Mrs. Arnold’s babbling was a low background noise.

“I don’t know,” Varick hissed. “Perhaps she’s gone mad!” 

We spent the next few hours trying— in vain— to deal with Mrs. Arnold. We tried to soothe her, but if we got any closer than an inch to her, she would scream.

Right as Varick and I had stepped outside the room, again, to confer on what to do, there was a knock on the door. I sighed. “I’ll go get that. Stay.”

Varick squawked in protest. “Don’t leave me!”

I ran down the stairs, opening the door. “I am Colonel Hamilton,” I said. The man nodded.

“Yes. Well, here.” He thrust a packet of papers into my hands. “These were on the person of a ‘John Anderson’, who was captured. Give them to General Arnold.”

I nodded absently, closing the door. A map of West Point…

Washington and the others returned at four o’clock, Washington himself clearly furious. “Arnold never arrived,” Lafayette explained.

I hummed, approaching Washington. “Sir, these were dropped off here. They were on the person of a ‘John Anderson’, who was captured.”

Washington frowned deeper, and I grabbed Lafayette, pulling him aside. “What is it?” Lafayette asked, his voice becoming shrill.

“Quiet,” I snapped. “Something is wrong. Mrs. Arnold is raving mad upstairs, and Arnold has still yet to return.”

Lafayette bit his lip. “What could have happened?”

When we returned to Washington, his eyes were brimming with— to my shock— tears. “Arnold has betrayed us,” Washington said. I gasped. “Whom can we trust now?”

I stared blankly at Washington. _Arnold has betrayed us?_ “Go, Colonels Hamilton and McHenry,” Washington finally ordered, his voice level, betraying none of the emotion on his face. “Try and catch that villain.”

I nodded, and McHenry and I practically sprinted to our horses, jumping into the saddle and setting off, leaving a cloud of dust in our wake.

We rode down the Hudson for a dozen miles when we reached the edge of our lines. And, in the distance, we could see the _Vulture,_ where Arnold undoubtedly was.

“Damnit!” I yelled. We were too late. Arnold was behind the British lines. I sighed, tapping my hand against my knee.

“Alright,” I said to myself, setting off, already planning a letter to General Greene with instructions to secure West Point.

When we returned, a letter had just arrived from the traitor Arnold. I handed it to Washington. “We were too late,” I relayed. “He was already behind British lines when we caught up to him.”

Washington huffed, reading the letter. “He says Mrs. Arnold is innocent.” He folded the letter, tossing it aside. 

I watched as he walked up the stairs. Arnold had betrayed us… Now what?

On September twenty ninth, the Board of Officers found André guilty, and he would be executed as a spy.

So, on that date, I found myself visiting André where he was detained. “Major André?” I asked, nodding at the Continental soldier who had let me in.

André looked up at me, smiling sadly. “Ah, you are…” He waved his hand.

I bowed my head. “Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton,” I said. “I have come to ask if there is anything you need.”

André smiled. “Actually, there is. I beg you to be the bearer of a request to General Washington for permission to send an open letter to Sir Henry Clinton.” André breathed in deeply.

“I foresee my fate, and though I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life. Yet, I am reconciled to whatever may happen, conscious that misfortune, not guilt, has brought it upon me. There is only one thing that disturbs my tranquillity. Sir Henry Clinton has been too good to me; he has been lavish of his kindness. I am bound to him by too many obligations and love him too well to bear the thought that, he should reproach himself, or that others should reproach him, on the supposition of my having conceived myself obliged by his instructions to run the risk I did. I would not for the world leave a sting in his mind, that should embitter his future days.”

Before I could respond, André collapsed into tears, a sob bursting from his lips. I turned away to give him a moment. I couldn’t help but feel _awful_ for poor André. 

“I wish to be permitted to assure him: I did not act under this impression, but submitted to a necessity imposed upon me as contrary to my own inclination as to his orders,” I wish to be permitted to assure him, I did not act under this impression, but submitted to a necessity imposed upon me as contrary to my own inclination as to his orders,” André finished, wiping his eyes.

I nodded. “Of course, sir. Do you have the letter?” 

André nodded, handing me the letter. “Thank you. You’re too kind,” he sniffed, grimacing at me. I tucked the letter into my pocket.

“Good day, Major André.” With that, I took my leave.

Despite my best efforts— even going as far as to send a letter to General Clinton myself— John André was to be hung as a spy on October second, seventeen eighty.

I stood stiffly as André was led to the gallows. When he arrived, he stepped back for a moment. An officer told him something and he responded, stepping into the wagon.

“It will be but a momentary pang,” I could hear him say. I watched— everyone watched— as he retrieved two white handkerchiefs from his pocket and tied them over his eyes. 

As he did, I felt the tears begin to trickle down my cheeks. I desperately hoped that no one would see. 

He put the noose over his head, and there was a sob from somewhere beside me. Colonel Scammel spoke.

“You have an opportunity to speak, sir.”

André raised the handkerchief from his eyes and cleared his throat. “I pray you to bear me witness that I meet my fate like a brave man.” He covered his eyes again and the wagon pulled away with a sickening crack, leaving André suspended, hanging from side to side in mid air.

I looked away as they removed the body.

“In going to the place of execution, he bowed familiarly as he went along to all those with whom he had been acquainted in his confinement. A smile of complacency expressed the serene fortitude of his mind. Arrived at the fatal spot, he asked with some emotion, must I then die in this manner? He was told it had been unavoidable. “I am reconciled to my fate (said he) but not to the mode.” Soon however recollecting himself, he added, “it will be but a momentary pang,” and springing upon the cart performed the last offices to himself with a composure that excited the admiration and melted the hearts of the beholders. Upon being told the final moment was at hand, and asked if he had any thing to say, he answered: “nothing, but to request you will witness to the world, that I die like a brave man.” Among the extra ordinary circumstances that attended him, in the midst of his enemies, he died universally esteemed and universally regretted.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, 10/11/1780

I arrived in Philadelphia in early November. My stomach churned from inside the carriage, which would take me to the house where John was staying in Philadelphia.

What would he say? This would be the first time I’d seen him since the previous winter, and now I was to be wed soon. What would he say? Would he hate me? Would he—

I was broken from my thoughts by the jolt of the carriage coming to a stop. I jumped out of the carriage, grabbing my bags.

 _Breathe, Alexander,_ I reminded myself, watching as the carriage drove away, officially leaving alone in Philadelphia on John Laurens’ doorstep.

I knocked on the door, not allowing myself to hesitate. This was _John._ I knew John. I heard the sound of footsteps inside.

I was Alexander Hamilton, and I would not allow myself to cower.

The door opened, revealing a servant girl, her dark hair tied back into a bun. “Who are you?” she asked, a rag tossed over her arm.

I straightened up. “Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.” I bowed. “I’m here to see John Laurens.”

The girl nodded, opening the door wider. I walked into the elegant entrance hall, and a wave of nervousness rushed through my body.

“I’ll go get Mr. Laurens.” The servant girl curtsied and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the silent house.

There was something so cold and sterile about the house, and it made me want to fidget. I turned to admire a portrait of a field of flowers— elegant in its simplicity— when the door opened and I turned around.

My breath caught in my throat when I saw him. He was thinner, more gaunt looking, and his hair was longer than I’d ever seen it, but it was undeniably _John._

He stared at me, and I suddenly remembered that I’d forgotten to inform him of exactly _when_ I’d be arriving.

“Mary, please take his bags to the third bedroom,” John mumbled, and I almost cried at just the sound of his voice.

“Of course.” Mary picked up the bags. “I’ll leave you to it,” she muttered, leaving the room. As soon as she did, whatever spell that was keeping me still broke and threw myself at John, breathing in his scent.

“John,” I whispered, burying my face in his neck. John slowly reciprocated my embrace, his arms tight around my chest.

With John so near, something in me that had been teetering, balanced. 

“Alexander,” John gasped, pulling away from me and cupping my cheek. “You’re here.”

I nodded, almost laughing at the disbelief in John’s tone. “Yes, I’m here.”

John surged forward to kiss me, and I placed my hands on his shoulders. “Anyone could see,” I pointed out, brushing my fingers over his lips.

John nodded, something hard growing in his eyes, and he pulled away. “Mary will, undoubtedly, not yet have brought your bags to your room. Come. You may wait in my room.” I followed John up the stairs to the room that was presumably his, evidenced by the intricate drawings on the walls and the unmade bed.

As soon as the door closed and locked behind us, John and I met in the middle, our lips pressing together perfectly, and I realized that I’d missed this.

“I’ve missed you,” John mumbled between fervent kisses, his fingers perfectly intertwined with mine, as if that’s where they were always meant to be.

“And I you.” I ran my fingers through John’s hair, my lips dropping to John’s jaw. I quickly untied his cravat and tossed it aside, relishing the absolutely _wicked_ noise that John made when I sucked on the exposed skin on his neck.

Later that night, I found myself across from John at his dining table, a bowl of stew for each of us. It was already dark, and I watched as the candle flickered.

“So, what have I missed?” I asked, setting my spoon down. “With you, that is.”

John sighed, his shoulders dropping. “I’m afraid that I’m much the same. I was a prisoner of war, now I’m a man with no cause.” I frowned, and John continued. “Yes, I was exchanged successfully in October, but my father doesn’t want me to fight. I’m all alone in this big, empty house all day. I have nothing.”

John punctuated his sentence by slamming his spoon into his bowl. I stood up and sat beside him, taking his hand.

“You have your battalion idea to fight for. And you have _something.”_ I kissed the side of his head. “You have me, if nothing else.”

John scoffed and pulled away. “You’re getting married,” John answered, his voice low and tired. “I’m losing you.”

I shook my head, grabbing the side of John’s face. “No. No, you’re not. I’m here aren’t I?” 

John took my hand from his face and jumped up, storming away. With a groan, I followed him to his room.

“Yes, you’re here!” John yelled, and, if it wasn’t just us and the servants, I’d have scolded him for likely waking the whole house up. “But you’ve come here to let me go, haven’t you?”

John sagged and I walked over to him, taking his wrists. “I came here because I miss you and I love you, nothing more. You’re not losing me. My impending nuptials don’t change how I feel for you. Not even Eliz—”

John cut me off, pressing our lips together. “I don’t want to hear her name. I could handle it when you were just acquaintances, and I can’t handle it now.”

I nodded, kissing John’s soft lips, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I understand.” John nodded, resting our foreheads together.

“I love you, my dear boy,” John mumbled. 

“I love you, too, my dear J.” I sighed contentedly.

At least for that moment, everything was okay.

The next week with John was nice. I enjoyed myself, and I enjoyed rediscovering John’s body. But, at the same time, there was something distinctly different between John and I.

Something had shifted.

And, although I didn’t notice, the semblance of normality between us was precarious. Very precarious, indeed.

“Come to my wedding,” I blurted out one day while I was sitting in John’s room, watching him draw. “I want you there.”

John laughed dryly. “Is that a joke?” He turned to face me, his hands balled into fists and his knuckles white. “You… you want me to watch you marry someone else?”

I shifted. “When you phrase it in that way…”

John shook his head. “Alexander, I’m in love with you. It would break my heart to watch you marry Miss Schuyler.”

I frowned. “John, above all else, we’re friends. We’ll always be _friends._ I want you to be there. I don’t have anyone else, except McHenry, who can come.”

John shook his head. “No, no, you don’t understand.” He groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “I love you! I don’t love you any less than I did before! I _can’t_ watch you marry someone else.”

I couldn’t help the scowl on my face. “John, I’ve told you, Betsey doesn’t change how I feel for you.” I struggled to keep my voice calm.

“I don’t want to hear her name!” John yelled, kicking his desk. “You— you’re breaking my heart!”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t I deserve a chance at a family! You have a wife, and I forgave you! You had a wife that was with _child.”_

John glared at me. “That’s different! I never loved Martha; I married her out of pity. You love your fiancé!” 

John broke off at the end with a choked sob, running his fingers over his rapidly dampening cheeks. I took a tentative step forward, kissing his cheek.

“I do love you, John, as much as I love my betrothed. But if you could just come, you would see that.” I kissed his temple, and John glared at me.

“Alexander, I’m not coming. Now, please, can we not talk of your wedding? Please.” John kissed me, and I nodded my head.

“Alright, my dear.” I pressed our lips together. “Alright.”

In mid November, I left for headquarters. I stood in John’s room, my bags in the coach awaiting me downstairs.

“I love you,” I said softly, holding John to me tightly. John’s chin was resting atop my head, and I wondered if it was possible to just stay in that moment for the rest of my days.

“I love you.” John kissed me, his beautiful blue eyes boring into mine as he intertwined our fingers. “So much. Please, don’t ever forget that.”

I nodded, pressing my lips to his, pulling away with reluctance. “Goodbye,” I whispered.

John shook his head. “Not goodbye. Just… I’ll see you soon.”

I nodded, walking away, our intertwined fingers finally being ripped away from each other.

As I sat in the carriage, I could see John watching the street from his bedroom, and I had to force myself to look away, thinking of Eliza, who was waiting for me in Albany.

Eliza, whom I was to marry soon.

McHenry and I arrived in Albany in early December, about a week before the agreed upon date for mine and Eliza’s wedding.

We jumped down from our horses, and I brushed the snow from my coat, despite how futile it was, considering the snow was still falling.

McHenry and I walked up to the front door, knocking. There was the sound of footsteps inside, and a servant opened the door.

“Colonel Hamilton and Colonel McHenry, I presume?” We nodded. The servant stepped aside. “Come, come. The family is in the parlor.”

“Thank you,” I said softly, anxiety and excitement building in my lower stomach at the thought of _finally_ seeing my Eliza after so long.

The servant opened the parlor door, and everyone in the parlor turned. “Colonels Hamilton and McHenry.”

McHenry waved and looked around at everyone, but my eyes were for Eliza, who was sitting at the piano, and Eliza alone.

“Betsey,” I said. As soon as I finished speaking, Eliza gasped, running up to me and launching herself into my open arms.

“You’re here!” Eliza sobbed, clutching the back of my hair, her sweet face buried in my neck. All of my anxiety dissipated and I held Eliza tighter.

“My charmer, my love, I’m here,” I mumbled, kissing the side of Eliza’s head. Finally, after what felt like forever yet only a minute, we pulled apart.

Everyone was watching us with small smiles on their faces. McHenry approached us, bowing his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Schuyler.”

Eliza smiled sweetly, and I was struck with a pang of gratefulness, because that was a sight that I’d be graced with for the rest of my life.

That night, Eliza and I remained in the parlor after everyone left, our lips immediately finding each others. It was desperate yet searching, and let my fingers ghost over Eliza’s décolletage. 

Eliza sighed into it, pressing her body against mine, and warmness spreaded through my body, forcing me to step back from Eliza.

“Another week,” I reminded Eliza, squeezing her hand.

Eliza nodded. “One week.” 

The idea caused my heart to beat faster.

On December eleventh, despite John’s endorsement, John himself was picked to be the American Minister to France with Benjamin Franklin.

Despite my brief disappointment over the position, I wasn’t exactly surprised, and instead I tried to focus on my upcoming wedding.

And— on December fourteenth, seventeen eighty at noon— Eliza and I were to be wed. 

I stood in the middle of the Schuyler family’s parlor, my anxiety high and my head racing. 

Did Eliza really want me? Would she really want to give up a life of leisure and luxury for me— a man with an uncertain future? Would she really want to marry a poor man— to be a poor man’s wife?

I breathed in deeply, straightening my shoulders as Eliza and Mr. Schuyler entered the parlor, causing everyone to stand.

Mr. Schuyler kissed the side of Eliza’s head and gently pushed her towards me, and I took her delicate hands, squeezing them gently. 

The minister cleared his throat, and I turned to look at him. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony…”

I only vaguely heard the rest of the minister’s words over the sound of my beating heart. Then, suddenly, Eliza squeezed my hand, and I could focus again.

“Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s Ordinance, in the holy Estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, serve him, love, honour and keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?” The minister asked Eliza, who nodded, tears shining in her eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

Eliza beamed brightly at me, and the minister asked me much the same. I nodded, willing the lump in my throat down.

“I do.”

The minister smiled, and I retrieved my ring. It was a small gold thing, not what Eliza deserved but what I could afford, that was actually two rings interlocked together, our names engraved.

I slowly slipped the ring onto Eliza’s dainty finger, and only then did I notice the tears slipping down her flushed cheeks.

“With this Ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” The minister waved his hands over our intertwined hands.

It hit me as I leaned in to kiss Eliza, my _wife._ I was married. Eliza and I were tied together forever.

For as long as we both should live.

The party commenced soon after. McHenry approached me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Hammie! You’re married. How does it feel?”

I laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Ask me in a few days.”

McHenry rolled his eyes, and Eliza was suddenly at my side, her smile wide when she saw me. “Hello, my love,” she greeted, pressing her shoulder against my arm.

“Hello, Mrs. Hamilton,” I answered as Eliza giggled, and it was music. 

“Congratulations, Miss Schuyler— sorry— Mrs. _Hamilton,”_ McHenry said, raising his glass of madeira. 

Eliza nodded. “Thank you, Mr. McHenry. You’re too kind.” 

McHenry shrugged, bowing his head. “I will leave you two alone.”

Once McHenry was out of sight, Eliza turned to face me, her fingers grazing my wrist. “We’ll have cake soon, then we’ll open our gifts to each other, then…” Eliza flushed, biting her lip.

I raised an eyebrow. “What were you thinking, Mrs. Hamilton?”

If it was possible, Eliza flushed more, running her nail over the inside of my wrist. “I’m sure you know, Mr. Hamilton.” She ran her nail over my wrist again, and I shivered.

About an hour later, later that I’d initially assumed, we took a bite of my cake, the bride’s cake sitting beside it, to be untouched until our wedding anniversary.

It seemed to be a waste of food to me, but I was willing to ignore it in favor of focusing on the ticking of the clock. I could see Eliza glancing at it too, her eyes often meeting mine.

Finally, we opened our gifts to each other. Eliza embroidered me a beautiful cover for a portrait that I’d had done of me, and I got her a sewing machine.

The look on her face made up for the sufficient gap in my funds.

Finally, after so long, Eliza and I excused ourselves to go to our shared bedroom, our fingers interlaced. Immediately, upon entering the room, I closed and locked the door.

Eliza smiled shyly. “I’ll fetch Anna to help me undress.” Eliza stepped towards me, kissing my jaw. “Then I’ll be back.”

I watched her leave the room, her hips swaying, and I let out a loud exhale.

After too long, Eliza shyly re-entered the room, where I had stoked the fire and undressed so that I was wearing nothing but my night clothes.

“Hello,” Eliza whispered, approaching the bed _much_ too slowly. 

I grinned at her, grabbing her waist and pulling her onto my lap. Eliza let out an ‘oof’, pressing our lips together.

I leaned into it, placing my hands on her waist. For a long moment, that’s all we did, the sounds of the still raging party going on downstairs and outside.

Finally, we pulled apart for air, and Eliza placed a hesitant hand on the cloth covering my member. As she moved her hand up and down, I sighed, kissing her softly, my fingers going to her breasts, rubbing her nipples.

Eliza let out a hiss, her hips bucking slightly. “Oh, Alexander.” I smiled, pressing my lips to Eliza’s neck and sucking gently as she breathed in deeply, her hand still rubbing my member.

“How would you like to discard these unnecessary layers?” I asked into Eliza’s ear, nipping softly at the lobe of her ear. 

“Yes, yes,” Eliza breathed, jumping off of my lap. Before I had time to lament the loss, she was undressed, and I was privy to a full view of my Betsey, my beautiful, angelic Betsey.

“Oh, Betsey.” I stood up, running my fingers over her soft curves. “You’re gorgeous.” I pressed my lips over her breast, placing a gentle kiss to the soft skin.

Eliza sighed, her hands going to my hair. “Oh, my love, let me see you.” She ran her hand over my cheek. “Please.”

I smirked. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” I discarded my night dress, and when I turned to look at Eliza, her face was bright pink.

Eliza ran her hands over my stomach and chest, smiling as she did. “My husband,” she declared, kissing me. I grinned into the kiss, picking her up and carrying her to the bed.

I laid her down gently, climbing between her legs as she trembled. “Please, Alexander,” Eliza begged as I ran my nails over the sensitive skin of her thigh.

“As you wish.” I leaned down, licking her warmth. Eliza gasped, her hips bucking involuntary. I slowly entered a finger into her, then another. Luckily, Eliza was already wet.

“Oh, oh, that…” I sucked on the delicate skin on her clitoris, and Eliza let out a cry, grabbing my hair. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

I sucked harder, slowly pushing my fingers in and out of her, watching as Eliza became undone. But before she could finish, I pulled away.

Eliza let out a high pitched whine. “Wait, my charmer,” I said. I raised myself above her, and Eliza spread her legs.

I kissed her cheek. “Are you alright?” I asked as Eliza shook and trembled.

Eliza nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. I want you inside of me.” I smiled, kissing Eliza as I pushed in, my moan and Eliza’s soft gasp absorbed into each other’s lips.

I leaned down to suck on her nipple as I thrusted, my heart pounding all the while. I looked up, kissing Eliza, desperate and slow all at once.

“My wife, I get to be with you forever,” I prattled on, thrusting deeper. Eliza whined as I continued to speak. “I love you, please, _s’il te plait ne me quitte pas, la seule autre personne que j'ai aimée m'a quitté,_ please don’t leave me…”

Eliza kissed my head, her nails digging into my back as I kissed her breast. “I won’t; I won’t leave you. You’re my everything. I’ve never felt such love, _my_ Hamilton—” Eliza moaned, tightening around me.

A few seconds later, with one final thrust, I groaned, slumping against Eliza’s body. 

Neither of us moved for a long moment, simply panting and catching our breath. Finally, I pulled out, climbing up next to Eliza, her arms immediately going around my waist.

“Thank you,” Eliza said after a long moment, kissing my temple, her lips warm. I turned my head to catch her lips with mine.

After two more delightful romps, Eliza and I fell asleep, still nude and damp with sweat, in each other’s loving embrace.

I fell asleep in the embrace of my sweet Betsey, my darling, dear _wife._

“Now his fluttering wings out spread/Three times he bless’d the bridal bed,/While o’er it Faith her mantle threw/And said small care would keep it new./Last Prudence came, in sober guise/With Pilgrim’s pace, and wisdom’s eyes;/Forth from his stole a tablet took/Which you received with thankful look./Genius had deeply mark’d the ground,/And Plutus finely edg’d it round./This done, he bade you long improve/In all the sweets of mutual love.”

Excerpt of a poem by James McHenry, describing the wedding night of Elizabeth and Alexander Hamilton, 12/14-15/1780

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I’m sorry this chapter took a little longer to get out. The next chapter should be up in a few days. And, I just wanted to say, thank you for all of the comments and kudos! They’re a great motivation to write! Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. Peggy Shippen was actually involved in the turning of Benedict Arnold. It is mostly agreed that she duped Hamilton and the others. If you want to read more about her, you should read: Treacherous Beauty by Mark Jacob and Stephen Case.  
> 2\. André’s dialogue is from Hamilton recounting of the event, and his last words are his historically accurate ones. Peggy Shippen’s ravings are also her actual words.  
> 3\. We don’t know if Hamilton actually visited Laurens, but in letters to Eliza, he says he’s going to visit soon, so it’s likely true.  
> 4\. James McHenry went to Hamilton wedding as his only guest. And, yes, weddings had two cakes, and only one was eaten sometimes. And, yes, Eliza and Hamilton’s gifts to each other are accurate historically.  
> 5\. If you’re wondering why I write smut, it’s because I wanted to.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you, again, for all of the comments and kudos, (they make my day and are a great motivation to write!) and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 15, 1780-November 1781

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_December 15, 1780, Albany, New York_

I awoke the next morning with Eliza perched above me, an adoring smile on her face. I blinked owlishly. “Good morning, Eliza. What were you watching?”

Eliza’s cheeks were tinted pink. “You looked so peaceful in sleep. I’ve never seen you so at ease.” Eliza ran a hand through my hair. “I look forward to seeing it every morning for the rest of my days.”

I sat up, pulling Eliza to my chest, intertwining our fingers. “As do I, my love.”

Eliza hummed happily, resting her head against my chest, tapping her fingers in rhythm to my heart. After a long while of silence, Eliza leaned up to kiss me softly.

“I won’t ever leave you, I promise,” Eliza promised as I cupped her cheek. “If anything, I should worry about you leaving me.” 

I frowned. “Why?” I ran my fingers over Eliza’s gentle cheek. “Why would I leave you? You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Eliza bit her lip, shrugging. “Because, well, I’m _me._ I’m not as beautiful or as witty as Peggy, or as intelligent as Angelica.”

I shook my head, pressing my lips to Eliza’s, holding her tightly in my arms. “I love you. I’ve said it before, and I shall say it again: I will not permit you to say you don’t deserve the preference I give you.” 

Eliza nodded, still looking unconvinced. “Thank you, Alexander.” She squeezed my hand gently, lifting my fingers to her lips. “And you shouldn’t worry about me ever leaving. I’m here to stay.”

I smiled sadly, kissing Eliza again, letting myself simply float in waves of bliss. “Oh, Betsey, I don’t deserve you.”

That morning, Eliza and I walked in the back of the Schuyler family’s home, simply enjoying the silence. 

“Imagine it,” I finally said, gesturing at the grassy area around us. “One day, we’ll have a home of our own like this, and we’ll plant turnips.”

Eliza tittered, beaming up at me. “That sounds grand.” She leaned against me, pressing our shoulders against each other’s. “We’ll have many children, a big house, and be utterly happy.”

I nodded, and the thought of a countryside home, Eliza, and many children by my side brought a smile to my face.

“What has you smiling?” Eliza nudged my shoulder, looking up at me from under her beautiful dark lashes, and I couldn’t help kissing her fiercely. 

Eliza gasped when our lips made contact, throwing her arms around my neck. When we pulled apart, I cupped the back of Eliza’s neck. “I’m only thinking of our future, my sweet girl.”

It suddenly came to me that I wanted this war to be over more than ever now, so that Eliza and I could begin our joint lives together.

Eliza’s beam was brighter than a thousand suns, and I felt her infectious warmness seep into me, and I pulled her to me, kissing the top of her head.

As much as I wished for it, the war was not yet over. There was still so much more to do.

The next two weeks were full of bliss. But, unfortunately, reality creeped into the Schuyler family’s home— mainly news of the war and the fact that I was snubbed over for the position of Russian Ambassador in favor of Francis Dana on December nineteenth— and I knew that I had to return to headquarters, now in New Windsor, New York.

The day before I was to leave, I found myself at Angelica Schuyler’s bedroom door, and I was knocking before I could think better of it.

From inside, there was a rustling, and Angelica opened the door, her hair in a braid. “Alexander? What is it?” she asked, resting her hand on the doorframe.

“As you know, I am leaving tomorrow,” I said, and Angelica nodded slowly. “Well, I only ask that you watch over Eliza.”

Angelica furrowed her eyebrows together, tilting her head to the side slightly. “Of course, I will. I am her older sister. But, I must ask, why do you want me to watch over her? She’ll be leaving to join you a few days after you yourself leave.”

I sighed, shifting slightly. “Yes, she will, but she’s been quite dejected. I… Eliza is stronger than anyone knows, as you’ve said, but I still worry for her.” 

Angelica smiled softly at me, reaching over to squeeze my shoulder. “Thank you for worrying about Eliza. And I will watch over her. But, once she arrives in New Windsor, it is your duty to watch over her. I ask that you are good to her.”

I nodded. “I will give her what she deserves.”

In retrospect, I wish that I’d been able to do just that.

I left the next day. Eliza was smoothing my coat as I stood beside my horse, her lips pursed in a thin line.

“I do wish that I could go with you _now,”_ Eliza said, stepping back slightly, but still holding my hand. I frowned.

“Please, my darling, I need to set up our housing. When you arrive, everything will be ready for you.” I ran my fingers over the wisps of hair on her neck.

Eliza exhaled out through her nose, nodding begrudgingly. “Fine. But, if it’s not ready, I shall blame you for delaying me.”

I rolled my eyes, kissing Eliza gently, my hands flying to her waist. When we pulled apart, I jumped up onto my horse.

“Adieu, my beloved.” When Eliza stepped back, after I blew her a kiss, I set off, my thoughts on travel times and my sweet Betsey.

I arrived in Fishkill, New York on the ninth of January, seventy eighty one in the evening. 

Immediately upon my arrival there, I found myself writing to George Fisher— an agent in the state commissary department who happened to be a resident of Fishkill— requesting his assistance in procuring two horses, one for me and one for a servant Eliza had sent with me, and a guide to travel to headquarters, which was only roughly ten miles away.

With his assistance and the help of a knowledgeable guide, Albert— the servant— and I found ourselves trudging to headquarters that night.

After brief greetings to the family, I collapsed into bed in the aide’s room, thinking of the house I’d procure the next day and the emptiness of the bed.

I had never liked sleeping alone.

“I am extremely anxious to get across to Head Quarters this night and it seems hardly possible to cross the river here or not without great risk. I wish to hire a couple of horses one for myself and one for my servant to cross the river at West Point with a guide to conduct us across the Mountain. I will pay him handsomely for his trouble.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to George Fisher, 01/09/1781

John arrived in headquarters a few days after I did. I was sitting in the aide’s room, sifting through dispatches, when Humphreys and John entered the room.

“Ah, Laurens!” McHenry yelled, walking over to John and clapping him on the back. “How have you been?”

John shrugged, his smile as charming as ever. I hated that the sight still made my stomach churn. I stood up, walking over to John and shaking his hand.

“It’s good to see you,” I muttered, stepping back and surreptitiously observing John— his bright eyes, the true exhaustion hidden beneath layers of false authenticity, his perfectly powdered hair, and his perfectly polite expression.

Even after so long, he was the perfect picture of propriety.

“I expected to see you at Ham’s wedding,” McHenry said, breaking me from my thoughts. McHenry nudged John. “You should’ve heard them. I shared a wall with the new couple…”

John turned pink as I flinched. When I turned to look at John, his hands were balled into tight fists, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze.

“Allow me to lead you to the aide’s room,” I murmured, walking ahead of John. Were it not for his soft footsteps, I wouldn’t have known that he was even following me.

“This is your bed.” I gestured to a bed. “You will share with Humphreys.” John looked shocked at that.

“Why him?” he asked, looking at the bed with distaste.

I shifted from foot to foot, remembering John’s words before, his request to not to hear Eliza’s name. I wondered if it even mattered now. “Mrs. Hamilton will be arriving in a few days time. We will be sharing a house.”

With each word I spoke, John visibly curled into himself, his eyes dropping to the floor. I took a step back.

“I have to return to work,” I said, already halfway to the door. “I will allow you time to settle in.”

I practically dashed out of the room, leaning against the door. Only once the door closed behind me did it seem that I was able to breathe.

I sighed, straightening my shoulders. As I walked back to the aide’s study, I wondered what had happened with John and I.

I should’ve known this would happen. Perhaps this was always where we were headed. I should’ve trusted my instincts— the instincts that had warned me to avoid Laurens— and left him be.

Why hadn’t I?

That night, I was in my lodgings, writing at the small desk in the corner of the closet like building that I called my house, the wax on the candle dripping.

I groaned, letting my head fall to the desk, when there was a loud series of knocks at my door. I lifted my head up, rubbing my eyes.

There was another series of bangs. “I’m coming!” I yelled, jumping up and opening the door, revealing an obviously intoxicated Laurens, who was swaying on his feet.

“Laurens?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him, blatantly ignoring the part of me that was thrilled at his presence. Laurens smiled sadly, practically throwing himself at me. I gasped in surprise, holding him to me. “Laurens, what’s wrong?”

Laurens didn’t answer, and I hesitantly pulled him inside, shutting the door behind us with my foot. I sat down at the table, Laurens still clinging to me, and only then did I notice that he was crying.

“Laurens?” I repeated, seeing Laurens’ shaking shoulders. “Laurens, look at me. What’s wrong? Laurens!”

Laurens looked up at me, his eyes red. “You used to call me John,” he said softly, bursting into another fit of sobs.

I stilled, unaware of what to do. After all, I couldn’t help if I didn’t know what exactly was plaguing Laurens.

Finally, Laurens pulled away from me, wiping his eyes. “I’m really drunk.”

I couldn’t help my burst of laughter. “I’m quite aware.”

Laurens rolled his eyes, his hands going to his knees. “I’m sorry, Alexander.” Our eyes met and I looked away first, causing Laurens’ face to fall. 

I stood up, putting a reasonable distance between Laurens and I, and crossing my arms over my chest. “Laurens, why are you here?”

Laurens sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I came here because I miss you.” My eyes widened, and I quickly schooled my face into a neutral expression as Laurens continued. “I love you, so much, and you told me your wife won’t change how you feel for me, but it has!”

His words cut off at the end, and Laurens was crying again. I hesitantly approached him, placing my hand on his shoulder.

What had happened between us? What once came so naturally now felt stilted. 

“Laurens, I…” I stopped. I didn’t have anything to say. What could I say to fix this? I had made Laurens cry and there was nothing I could do. “I’m sorry.”

“Call me John,” John snapped, jumping up and grabbing my hips. “I’m your John.” Our noses brushed and I could feel myself trembling.

Our lips barely brushed. “John… We can’t go on like this forever.” Despite my words, I made no move to step away. “The longer this goes on, the more likely we are to be caught.”

John nodded, but he still stayed holding my hips. “I know. But I love you, and I want you. I don’t care.”

I looked up into John’s eyes, half of his face hidden in the shadows, the flickering candle only half illuminating his handsome face.

“This is ruinous,” I said, placing my hand over John’s all the while. “I knew, when we first met, that I should’ve stayed away from you, lest we get hurt. And we are hurt.”

John shrugged, his lips dropping to my neck. I let my neck fall back, bumping the wall. “Do you still love me?” John asked, his tongue dancing over my Adam’s apple.

I thought of how my stomach still churned when John smiled, and how I had been happy to see him. Finally, I nodded. “Yes, I love you.”

John grinned, finally truly kissing me, his hands going into my pants.

An hour or so later, John and I were curled up in bed, our arms and legs intertwined. “I love you, too,” John whispered into my ear, nipping at my shoulder.

Unlike before, what felt like so long ago, I couldn’t afford to allow myself to fall for John like I had before. But I also knew that I loved John and I wanted him.

This couldn’t last forever, that I knew. But I could enjoy being in John’s arms for as long as it should last.

Eliza arrived in New Windsor on the eighteenth of January, wearing a large coat and a coral dress. I didn’t even know that she’d arrived until she walked right into the aide’s room, where John, McHenry, and I were writing.

McHenry spoke up first. “Ah, Mrs. Hamilton!” I looked up to see Eliza beaming at me brightly, her cheeks adorably pink from the cold.

“Ah, my dear.” I stood and kissed her cheek— dangerously near her mouth— taking her hands. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

Eliza shrugged, squeezing my hand. “We managed to arrive early.” She turned and faced John, whose look was only a notch down from a glare.

“You must be Colonel Laurens,” Eliza exclaimed, taking a step towards John, either impervious to John’s palpable discomfort or choosing to ignore it. “My husband has mentioned you in his letters.”

John’s eyes flitted to me. “Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed his head and Eliza smiled softly.

“The same to you,” Eliza said, walking back to my side. “Now, where are our lodgings? My bags are downstairs.”

I caressed her cheek. “Perhaps McHenry could show you? I’m very busy.” Eliza frowned slightly, but she nodded.

Before Eliza could turn away, I grabbed her wrist, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “I assure you, my charmer, I will make it up to you later.”

Eliza turned pink, averting her eyes. McHenry looked like he was going to faint if he didn’t let out his laugh, and John was glaring daggers into the table.

“Let us go, Mrs. Hamilton!” McHenry cried, giving Eliza his arm. Despite my knowing that McHenry would never do anything, jealousy twisted in my stomach and I kissed Eliza’s temple.

“Oh, Mr. Laurens!” Eliza turned back to face John. “Do make sure my husband is home before dark, will you? Thank you.”

“Of course,” John gritted out. I almost flinched at the pure disdain in his voice.

With a final wave, Eliza and McHenry left the room.

I quickly turned to John, who was still glaring at the table, his knuckles white. Then, there was a crack, and the quill in his hands snapped.

I stepped forward. “John, I didn’t know she’d be arriving today.”

John stood up, throwing the bottom of the snapped quill at the wall. “I don’t care. I’m leaving for Boston _tomorrow,_ Alexander! I wanted just one more night.”

I sighed. “John, I’m sorry. I can’t control when she arrives.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And, I feel I should say, I know you didn’t want to see her, but you could’ve been nicer.”

John glared at me. “I couldn’t handle hearing her name, for Christ’s sake! How, pray tell, did you expect me to react to seeing her?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, gathering strength. “One: lower your voice. Two: I don’t _care._ She’s my wife, John.”

“And I’m what?” John snapped, but at least he had the decency— or perhaps the good sense— to lower his voice; a small mercy. “Your paramour?”

I rolled my eyes. “John, I do love you. But Eliza is my wife.”

John slammed his fist on the table, and I winced slightly, stumbling back. “You were mine first! Does that mean nothing?”

“John, Eliza is my damn wife,” I repeated, a sliver of anger slipping into my tone against my better judgement. “And just because I was once yours doesn’t make us tied forever.”

“So, what? You only let me in the other night because you were acting on your base intentions?” John asked challengingly. 

When he finished speaking, I couldn’t take it anymore and I kicked the chair. “John, I love you. I can’t do anything to make you believe me, I know that, but I do.”

John didn’t respond, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a terrifying bang.

When he left, I grabbed an empty ink pot and chucked it at the wall.

John left the next day for Boston, where he would board a boat to France. He’d be in France for an indeterminate amount of time. 

I woke up with the sun, and Eliza stirred as I sat on the bed to put my boots on. She grabbed my hand.

“Alexander?” Eliza sat up and rubbed her eyes, her hair frizzy. “Where are you going?”

I kissed her lips gently, running my hand over her collarbone. “Laurens is leaving for Boston today. I wish to say goodbye.”

Eliza nodded, lying back down and pulling the sheets up to her neck. “Well, I’m going back to sleep.” 

I ran my hand through her hair, enjoying the sight, before I forced myself to walk out of the house, shutting the door quietly behind me.

I did manage to catch John before he left, but just barely. He was about to climb onto his horse when I reached him. “John!”

John turned, his eyes widening when he saw me. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you still be sleeping?”

I shrugged, throwing my arms around his neck. “Goodbye, John. Be safe.” After our fight the previous day, I expected John to push me off of him, perhaps to even curse me out. Instead, he rested his head in the crook of my neck.

“I will,” John answered, breathing in deeply. “I hate that I always come back to you.” With that, John pulled away from me.

I wanted to agree with him. I hated that I always crawled back to him, too. I hated that, even though I loved Eliza with the entirety of my heart, I also always ended up back in John’s arms.

I squeezed his wrist, stepping away so that there was an acceptable distance between us. “Be safe.” I lowered my voice. “I love you.”

“And I you.” John jumped up onto his horse, and, with a final heavy glance in my direction, he was gone.

When I returned home, Eliza was still asleep, curled up on her side. I sat down beside her, running my hands up and down her bare back.

I forced myself not to think of John, and how our sweat had stained the very sheets in which Eliza now slept. 

Although they had been washed of the grime, the memory of what we’d done remained imprinted in them.

I shook my head. It felt like I was betraying Eliza to think of John in such a way, especially right beside her. 

Instead, I just sat, watching Eliza breathe for another few minutes.

Eliza was a perfect wife and perfect in every other way. So, no, I wouldn’t think of John now, not when I was in the presence of an angel.

“As to me I am the happiest of Women. My dear Hamilton is fonder of me every day. Get married I charge you and give this advice to your friend. There is no possible felicity but in that state imagined me my sister. I was much in want of it.”

Excerpt of a letter from Elizabeth Hamilton to Margarita “Peggy” Schuyler, 01/21/1781

A few weeks after John left, on February sixteenth, although I didn’t know it, an event would happen that would change my path.

I was walking down the stairs at headquarters, my head pounding and my eyes scanning the letters in my hands, when I was stopped by Washington.

“Colonel, I wish to speak with you on some business,” he said, his hand still on my shoulder. 

I nodded, shrugging his hand off of my shoulder. “I will wait upon you immediately, Your Excellency.”

Washington nodded and I hurried down the stairs, to where I could see Tilghman standing. “Tilghman,” I called, walking up to him and handing him a letter. “Here. This is from Mr. Blaine, containing information on the Commissary department.”

Tilghman grinned, tucking the letter into his coat. “Thank you, Hammie.” I rolled my eyes and Tilghman winked at me, walking away.

I watched him walk away, before I turned to the staircase, wondering idly what Washington wanted to discuss with me.

“Alexander!” Came a voice, and Lafayette was suddenly at my elbow. “What of the meeting with Count Rochambeau? It was supposed to be on the seventh!”

I nodded, rubbing my temples. “I will ask the General about it,” I answered, and Lafayette puffed out a breath, nodding grudgingly.

“Thank you, Alexander.” With that, he walked off and I headed towards Washington’s office. But, before I could reach his office, I was stopped by Washington himself, standing at the edge of the steps.

“Colonel Hamilton!” Washington snapped, his face contorted in anger. “You have kept me waiting at the head of the stairs these ten minutes. I must tell you, sir, you treat me with disrespect.”

I balled my hands into fists. I treated _him_ with disrespect? What of the constant yelling at me and the constant denying me of the _one_ thing I asked for, after nearly four years of dutiful service?

“I am not conscious of it, sir, but since you have thought it necessary to tell me so, we part,” I snapped, watching as Washington’s eyes widened slightly.

I was _done._

Finally, Washington nodded stiffly. “Very well, sir. If it be your choice.”

“Good day, sir,” I retorted, turning around, handing another aide the documents— still in my hands— and I walked out.

When I returned home some time later, the first thing I saw upon entering the house was Eliza, who was sitting at the writing desk and knitting.

When I shut the door behind me, Eliza startled, turning to face me. “Alexander!” She jumped up out of her seat, kissing my cheek and retrieving my coat from my shoulders. “Why are you back so soon?”

I took Eliza’s hands. “I’ve quit.” As soon as I finished speaking, Eliza stilled and she opened her mouth, immediately closing it.

I watched as Eliza stared at me in confusion. Finally, she answered me. “You quit? As in you’re no longer an aide to Washington?”

I nodded. “Eliza, I couldn’t take the disrespect any longer. All I’ve ever wanted is a command, and he can’t even deign to give me that!”

Beside me, Eliza rubbed her temples. “Oh, Alexander…”

Before I could answer her, there was a knock at the door. Eliza looked at me in confusion, and I shrugged. 

“Coming!” Eliza called, smoothing her dress and pulling the door open to reveal Tilghman on the other side. “Colonel Tilghman, come on.”

Eliza closed the door behind him and hurried to stand beside me. “What has occurred for you to bless us with a visit?” Eliza asked pleasantly, her smile just a fraction too wide.

Tilghman sighed. “I’m here on business, unfortunately. It’s about Colonel Hamilton’s falling out with The General.”

Eliza’s face dropped and she sat down. I turned to Tilghman, who began to talk. “I’m here in the General’s name to relay his great confidence in your abilities, integrity, usefulness the like, and of his desire— in a candid conversation— to reconcile a difference which could not have happened but in a moment of passion.”

I shook my head and both Eliza and Tilghman looked at me with wide eyes. “Tilghman, I won’t meet with him.” I held up a finger. “One: I did not resolve to be angry. Two: whatever conversation could serve to do nothing but provide unsatisfactory answers on both sides.”

Before I could continue, Eliza grabbed my wrist. “Alexander, he’s offering you the chance at reconciliation!”

I frowned. Why did no one understand that I had been underused and that I had a right to _demand_ the respect I deserved?

“Tilghman, I won’t leave abruptly. I will remain an aide until you may procure a replacement. Understand?”

Tilghman rubbed his eyes. “I will not be able to sway you, will I?” I shook my head and Tilghman laughed humorously. “Alright. I will tell him. I bid you a good day.”

With that as his closing, Tilghman left, leaving Eliza and I alone. Eliza jumped up, glaring at me. “We are trying to create a family! It will do you no good to alienate one of your strongest allies.”

Eliza crossed her arms over her chest and I scowled. “Eliza, you don’t understand. You can’t understand. You see him as everyone else sees him— infallible and benevolent.”

Eliza’s shoulders dropped. “I’m going to take a walk. And, before you panic, I will be back. I simply need to think.”

I watched as Eliza left the house before I slumped in my seat.

Eliza returned about an hour later. I quickly stood up and Eliza walked up to me, taking my hands.

“I will support you in this,” Eliza said softly. “I don’t agree, but I shall support you.”

I smiled sadly, pulling her to me. I didn’t deserve her.

“Instead of finding the General as usual in his room, I met him at the head of the stairs, where accosting me in a very angry tone, “Col Hamilton (said he), you have kept me waiting at the head of the stairs these ten minutes. I must tell you Sir you treat me with disrespect.” I replied without petulancy, but with decision “I am not conscious of it Sir, but since you have thought it necessary to tell me so we ~~must~~ part” “Very well Sir ( ~~answered~~ said he) if it be your choice” or something to this effect and we separated.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Philip Schuyler, 02/16/1781

On March third, seventeen eighty one I officially ceased writing for Washington. However, on April ninth, I took up a house across the river from where headquarters was located.

I was going to obtain my command, and I had no qualms about becoming a pest if only I were to obtain my coveted command.

Eliza arrived at our new house in late April from Albany, her servant Anna with her and a few bags behind her. Immediately, she flew into my arms.

“Alexander!” Eliza leaned up on the tips of her toes, pressing our lips together. I wrapped her in my arms as Eliza ran her fingers through my hair.

Once we broke apart, I led her into our small house, anxiety twisting in me. Although it didn’t seem possible, it was somehow smaller than our previous residence.

Before I could apologize for the cramped space, Eliza was grinning brightly at me. “I love it.”

I smiled happily, taking Eliza in my arms and kissing her deeply. Eliza giggled and I stepped backwards, pulling Eliza towards the small bed.

Despite my best efforts, I had been unable to obtain a command from Washington. So, with great reluctance, an ill Eliza and I retreated to Albany in early June.

For the next few weeks, I fretted over Eliza, who awoke every morning to heave. Yet, despite the vomiting, Eliza did not have a fever.

Finally, the Schuylers called upon a doctor to check on Eliza, who, besides occasional fainting fits and retching, seemed fine.

I was pacing outside our shared room when Angelica— who had since arrived in Albany on June sixth— exited mine and Eliza’s bedroom.

“Is she alright?” I asked, my heart beating faster than if likely should have. Angelica nodded, and the tension coiling in my stomach loosened.

“Yes, she is alright. More than alright.” I frowned in confusion and Angelica squeezed my hand. “Eliza is with child.”

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. Eliza was with child? “May I see her?” I asked, my foot tapping against the floor.

Angelica opened the door right as the doctor left. I hurried into the room, practically flying to Eliza’s side.

“You’re going to have a baby?” I asked, tears brimming in my eyes. Eliza nodded, taking my hand. 

Despite my best efforts, I let out a sob, pressing my hand to her somewhat rounded stomach.

“You’re to be a father,” Eliza said, resting her hand over mine. I breathed in sharply, kissing Eliza’s hand.

“Eliza, we cannot stay at your parents forever,” I said, rubbing my thumb over Eliza’s knuckles. “I think I will leave for headquarters.”

Eliza frowned. “What? Why?”

I took her hand. “You and our new baby are my everything. I have nothing now, less than when we married, and that makes me unworthy of your esteem. I will obtain a command to give you the life you are deserving of, my angel.”

Eliza looked hesitant, but she nodded, squeezing my hand. “I love you, my Hamilton. And you will always be worthy of my esteem. I only ask that you return to me.”

I smiled softly. “I always will.”

I arrived at Dobbs Ferry, New York on July eighth, writing to Eliza and then to Washington, saying that if I did not obtain my command, I would resign from the army all together.

It was risky, and I ran the great risk of angering Washington, but it was a risk that I was willing to take for the future of my family.

And, on the morning of July tenth, Tilghman came to my door. “Hammie!” he exclaimed, clapping my back.

I squeezed his shoulder, stepping back. “So, have you news of my command?”

Tilghman nodded. “Yes. His Excellency presses you to retain your commission, with an assurance that he will endeavor, by all means, to give you a command nearly such as you could have desired in the present circumstances of the army.”

I shook my head. “No, Tilghman. I enclosed, in my letter to him, my commission. I have a wife with a child on the way. I will not back down.”

Tilghman sighed. “I will tell him such. And, I must say, congratulations on your impending fatherhood.”

I watched Tilghman walk away. No, I would not back down.

I had not been recognized by Washington in the first place by being meek. I had decided on what I wanted, and I was willing to fight for it.

My efforts were rewarded when, on July thirty first, seventeen eighty one, I received command of a New York light infantry battalion, with my old college friend, Nicholas Fish, as my second in command.

On August fourteenth, we received a letter from Count de Grasse, which informed us that the West Indian fleet, with more than three thousand land forces, would sail for the Chesapeake Bay, but they could not stay any later than mid October.

So, with that knowledge in mind, Washington made a decision. The final battle of the war would take place in Yorktown, Virginia.

And, on August nineteenth, after feigning an attack directed to New York for weeks, sending fictitious dispatches to New Jersey to deliberately fall into the enemy’s hands, we set off for Yorktown.

Although the naval battle had long since been underway, the main army did not arrive in Williamsburg, only thirteen miles from Yorktown, until the fourteenth of September.

On the twenty eighth, Washington led the army to Yorktown, where I was reunited with John, who had gotten leave from his position as minister to France to fight in what— we hoped— would be our final battle.

“John!” I yelled, throwing my arms around John and just allowing him to hold me as John rested his head on my shoulder.

When we pulled apart, John whistled lowly. “You finally obtained your command. Congratulations.” I smiled, kissing him in the relative safety of my empty tent.

John wrapped his arms around my neck immediately, pulling me to him, causing me to sigh into his lips.

On October ninth, seventeen eighty one at five o’clock, Washington himself fired the first gun from the American battery at the British strongholds.

A few days later, on the twelfth, while in my tent with John beside me, I wrote what could possibly be my final letter to Eliza, telling her of my love for her.

“Eliza is with child,” I said softly and John nodded. 

“I know. Tilghman happened to mention it.” John inhaled deeply, as if what he was about to say was physically paining him. “You must survive. Not only would it break my heart, you can’t widow your wife. Not so soon, anyway.”

I laughed dryly, standing up and taking John’s hand. “I love you.”

John brushed our lips together. “I love you, too. More than I’ve ever loved anyone before.” 

I hoped that that wasn’t a goodbye.

By October fourteenth, two days later, we had two trenches that were nearly completed, and only redoubts nine and ten needed to be overrun for them to be completed.

With time running out, Washington decided that we would storm the redoubts, with redoubt ten to be overwhelmed by the French, and ten by Americans, under Lafayette’s aide, Lieutenant Colonel Jean-Joseph Sourbader de Gimat.

Angered, I wrote to Washington, imploring him to recognize that I was the senior officer. After I wrote the letter to Washington, I hurried to his tent, where I was informed that I was to command three battalions, led by John, Fish, and Gimat.

That night, we crouched in the trenches, waiting for the signal, shells firing in the air. I breathed in deeply, thinking of Eliza, home in Albany.

Then, suddenly, the shells were fired and the sky was illuminated so brightly that I almost forgot to go, as I was mesmerized by the sight.

I shook my head, stood up, and my men and I began to run, dodging holes in the ground and rushing on. I breathed in shallowly, my heart pounding as the British and Hessians quickly began to fire.

I ducked a shot, which barely missed me, as my men whooped spiritedly from all around me, all of them seemingly feeling the terrifying, yet so very addictive, adrenaline rush that was battle.

Around me, I could see some American men chopping at the wooden defenses. With a silent rush of pride, I hurried on, jumping onto the shoulder of a soldier, who was kneeling.

I stumbled only slightly, now on top of the parapet. “Rochambeau! The fort’s ours!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, jumping down.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t looked down onto where exactly I’d fall before I jumped, and my foot caught in a hole.

From the corner of my eye, I could see a man in a red coat charging at me. With what was now instinct, I stabbed the man in the chest, watching as he gasped, his dark blood dripping onto my leg.

I pulled the bayonet out of his chest with a sickening slosh, and I suddenly felt twenty again. I shook my head and picked myself up.

Within less than ten minutes, we had overwhelmed the redoubt, despite the British’s best efforts, even going as far as to throw hand grenades at us, to no avail 

I walked along the edge of the redoubt, waiting for General Knox, who would join me in inspecting the redoubt, when I saw two of my men approaching a tied up redcoat with a bayonet pointed in his direction.

“Men!” I cried, grabbing the men by their shoulders and jerking them back. “We are not barbarians! I beg you to forget any recent instances that may have provoked you.”

The men nodded like scolded children, grumbling to themselves. I nodded stiffly at the captured redcoat, turning around and running right into John, who I sent to the back of the redoubt to prevent the redcoats from escaping.

“Alexander.” John sighed in relief, and we embraced, simply breathing in each other’s presence and enjoying the feeling of the other’s body, warm and alright.

When we pulled apart, I stepped back, lest I lose the battle I was having with my self control, as John was right _there,_ alive, and I wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against mine.

When Knox arrived some time later, he informed me that, on Washington’s orders, we would cry ‘shell’ upon seeing a shell.

I frowned. “That doesn’t sound very soldierly,” I retorted, looking around at the men, bayonets ready in case of any attempt to reclaim the redoubt.

Knox shook his head. “It is Washington’s orders, good sir. Unless—” 

I didn’t get the chance to find out what Knox was going to say as the men suddenly screamed, at the top of their lungs, “A shell! A shell!”

I jumped behind Knox, who was large enough to provide decent cover, clutching the back of his coat tightly. Knox squawked in protest, shoving me off of him, despite my strong grip.

“Now what do you think, Mr. Hamilton, about crying ‘shell’?” Knox asked smugly before his expression grew serious. “But let me tell you not to make a breastwork of me again!”

I huffed, turning to look up at the sky. I wondered if Eliza was looking at the same sky, and the possibility that she was brought me comfort.

I was alive, and I would be returning to her side soon.

“Two nights ago, my Eliza, my duty and my honor obliged me to take a step in which your happiness was too much risked. I commanded an attack upon one of the enemy’s redoubts; we carried it in an instant, and with little loss.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 10/16/1781

On October sixteenth, Cornwallis decided to attempt to retreat, planning to cross the river to Gloucester at night. 

Unfortunately for him, a storm intervened, stopping the ships sent to pick them up.

And, the next day, on October seventeenth, seventy eighty one, a warm autumn morning, a drummer boy in a redcoat suddenly appeared on a parapet, a soldier beside him waving a white handkerchief in the air.

The guns fell silent and our men began to cry in joy, some jumping up and down. I swayed slightly, whether it was from shock or the heat was debatable.

To negotiate the terms of surrender, we sent John, the French sent the Viscount de Noailles, who had been a former minister to Britain, and the British sent Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Dundas and Major Alexander Ross.

On October eighteenth, at two o’clock, for four hours, they drew up the terms of surrender, and fourteen terms were decided upon, all except number ten, which granted loyalists immunity.

Washington obstreperously opposed that one in particular. Personally, I didn’t think it was that unattainable or unfair, but, for once, I didn’t tell anyone my thoughts, excepting John.

And, on October nineteenth, seventy eighty one, at two in the afternoon, the British publicly surrendered at Yorktown, Virginia, their flags furled and their muskets shouldered.

Because the British had denied us the honors of war previous year at Charles Town, Washington didn’t see it fit to grant them the honors of war, in all fairness.

Cornwallis himself was not there, claiming illness. I doubted anyone truly believed him, but no one fought on it.

I was beside John as I watched on. The British walked out of Yorktown, the tune of “The World Turned Upside Down” playing.

Despite my outrage at the British soldiers’ declarations that they would enact revenge against us, I couldn’t deny my happiness.

This wasn’t the end— no, there was so much more left to do. But the tide had turned, and it was only a matter of time now before it was all truly over.

After a final tender goodbye to John, within the week I sped off to Albany, exhausting five horses in my desperation to reach Eliza, to fall into her comforting embrace.

I arrived in Albany in early November, trudging up to the house. I knocked on the door, despite barely being able to lift my arms, which could likely be attributed to exhaustion.

Prince, the servant, opened the door. “Colonel Hamilton?” He blinked before opening the door wider and allowing me in. “Your wife and her sisters are in the parlor.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, hurrying to the parlor and walking in. Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy were the only ones in the room, and none of them seemed to notice me.

I couldn’t help my smile at the very sight of my Eliza. I cleared my throat and all three of the sisters turned to face me, staring at me.

Eliza was the first to react, practically running at me and throwing herself into my arms. “Eliza,” I said, running my hand through her hair and placing my free hand on the much bigger bump that was now Eliza’s stomach.

“Oh, Alexander,” Eliza sobbed, holding me tightly. I pulled back from her, my head spinning from the sudden movement. Eliza furrowed her eyebrows together. “Alexander, are you okay?”

Before I could answer Eliza, I felt myself falling forward into her open arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next chapter should be up in a few days. And, I just wanted to say: thank you, again, for all of the comments and kudos. They make my day and are a great motivation to write, so thank you! Also, there is a little hint in this chapter about something that is coming up. I don’t know how subtle it actually is, but if you catch it, good on you. Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. I don’t know if Eliza and Laurens would’ve actually met, but Laurens left for Boston around January 18-20, and Eliza arrived around the 17-18. So it’s possible! I saw the chance for angst, and I took it.  
> 2\. Yes, Hamilton and Washington’s break was that petty. The musical makes it so much more dramatic, but historically Hamilton was just being dramatic, as per usual.  
> 3\. Hamilton actually jumped on a soldier’s shoulder to get into the redoubt, and his words and actions to General Knox are historically accurate.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you (again) for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 1781-December 4, 1783

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_November 1781, Albany, New York_

When I awoke, the first thing I saw was Eliza, who was sitting in bed beside me and knitting with me tucked neatly into her side.

I blinked blearily, slowly sitting up with a wince. “Alexander!” Eliza cried, abandoning her knitting and throwing her arms around my chest. “You’re awake.”

I nodded slowly, squeezing Eliza’s hand. “Yes, I am.” I looked around the room, obviously mine and Eliza’s. How I had gotten there, I wasn’t sure. “How long was I unconscious?”

“A week, in spurts,” Eliza revealed, and my eyes widened. “We thought it was camp fever, as many soldiers returning from Yorktown have caught it, apparently. Luckily, the doctor told us it was just exhaustion.”

I leaned against Eliza, already tired again despite barely moving at all. “Why am I so tired?” I mumbled, sighing happily as Eliza ran her hand through my hair.

“Because you haven’t slept in five years, maybe?” Eliza offered, raising an eyebrow at me. I flushed, but I still remained curled up in Eliza’s side.

“Alexander, I need to fetch the doctor.” Eliza moved to stand, but I grabbed her hand.

“Please, don’t go,” I begged, already cold. Eliza’s eyes flitted to the door and she reluctantly sighed, wrapping her arms around me.

“You were talking in your sleep,” Eliza said after a while. 

I looked up at her. “What did I say?”

“You called out for your mother, you apologized to someone for breaking their heart, you called out for Mr. Laurens, and you called out for me,” Eliza said softly, and I nodded, resting my head on the swell that was Eliza’s stomach.

“I’ve read of your actions at Yorktown in the papers,” Eliza mumbled, so quiet that I wondered for a moment if I’d imagined her words. “You showed such bravery and gusto. You’ve always shown that.” Eliza breathed in deeply. “Perhaps it’s time you rest.”

I didn’t say anything, already feeling myself begin to nod off. Instead, I moved closer to Eliza and just inhaled her sweet scent and tried to memorize the feeling of her body against mine.

A few days later, Eliza finally broached the subject that I’d been waiting for. 

“Alexander, why did you put yourself in such danger at Yorktown?” Eliza asked, looking up from her sewing, her lips a thin line.

I hesitantly closed the book I was reading, fiddling with the cover. “There is an adrenaline rush in battle. It can be… addictive. I… I must admit, had this been a few years ago, I would’ve been worse.”

Eliza frowned. “Alexander?” I held up a hand, steeling myself.

“I used to believe that my existence and America’s fight for freedom should end together. As you know, I grew up without honor. I craved it. I believed that bravery in battle was the best way to obtain what I lacked.” _I still do._

When I glanced at Eliza from the corner of my eye, there were tears in her eyes. “But you’ve given me a motive to outlive my pride.” I ran my fingers over the back of Eliza’s hand.

Eliza didn’t speak, simply staring at me. After a long moment, she leaned over to tenderly press her lips to mine, clutching at my nightshirt. 

I pulled her to me as Eliza cried, her tears dripping onto my lips. Finally, she pulled away and rested her head in the crook of my neck. 

“You must never do that,” Eliza commanded, kissing my neck. “You must never leave me in that way if you can prevent it.”

I nodded. “I won’t. I promise, Eliza. I am here to stay. I love you, and I long for nothing but a quiet retreat with my better angel.”

I caressed Eliza’s wet cheek, brushing my lips against her‘s. “Now, please, my darling girl, don’t cry.”

Eliza nodded, wiping her eyes. “Of course.” She sniffed and I kissed her nose softly.

I looked down at Eliza, placing my hand over her stomach. I thought of Eliza and our unborn child, and a sense of tranquility washed over me.

In that moment, I realized that I wished that this moment could last an eternity. But I wasn’t so foolish as to think it could.

“Every day confirms me in the intention of renouncing public life, and devoting myself wholly to you. Let others waste their time and their tranquillity in a vain pursuit of power and glory; be it my object to be happy in a quiet retreat with my better angel.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 09/06/1781

I spent the next few months recovering in a tranquil silence, with Eliza by my side. 

But, on January twenty second, seventeen eighty two, while Eliza and I were in parlor, Eliza playing piano and me reading, the tranquility between us broke in the best possible way.

Eliza hissed. “Ah… ah…” I turned to see that Eliza was staring in shock at her skirts, which were drenched. 

I cautiously approached Eliza, placing my hand on her shoulder. “Betsey, what’s wrong? Betsey?”

Eliza looked up at me, smiling. “Alexander, the baby is coming.” I froze in place, blinking as I comprehended the news.

“Oh! Should I fetch your mother?”

At first, Eliza nodded, then she shook her head. “No— well, yes. Have Anne fetch her. I don’t want to be alone for long.”

I nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Eliza’s head. “I will be right back.” I dashed out of the room, grabbing Anna from where she was dusting outside the parlor.

“Eliza is in labor,” I said, and I couldn’t help my smile. Anna nodded. “Go fetch Mrs. Schuyler.”

Anna left the room and I dashed back to Eliza, who was breathing shallowly, and immediately she took my hand.

“Your mother will be here in a moment.” I kissed Eliza’s temple, slick with perspiration. “You just need to hold on.”

“It’s not exactly comfortable,” Eliza gritted out, resting her head against my shoulder. I hushed her, rubbing my hand up and down her back. A minute or so later, Mrs. Schuyler, Angelica, and Peggy burst into the room.

“Oh, Eliza.” Mrs. Schuyler rushed to Eliza’s side, hoisting her up with Angelica’s assistance. “Come, Eliza.”

I watched them go, anxiety twisting knots in my stomach as I longed to follow. “She’s in capable hands,” Peggy reassured me, placing her hand over my arm.

I huffed out a breath, covering my hand with Peggy’s. “I am aware. I only worry. I… she is my wife and that’s my child.”

Peggy nodded, tugging me to the liquor cabinet. “Here.” She poured me a glass, pressing it into my hand and taking one for herself.

“It should calm the nerves. As a child, I used to see Prince pouring Papa glasses when Mama would give birth.” Upstairs, there was a curse and Anna rushed past us.

I downed the whole glass, collapsing onto the couch. “What if…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence, the thought of Eliza’s bright eyes going dark flooding my mind.

Peggy slapped my shoulder lightly. “Don’t say such things.” 

“My apologies,” I mumbled, more to myself than to Peggy. “Eliza has been healthy, correct?”

Peggy glared at me, but there was no real malice behind it, only annoyance. “You need to breathe,” she advised me. “After all, Mama has given birth more times than I can count, and Angelica has had three children.”

“You’re right.” I sighed, happily taking the refill that Peggy offered me.

As I waited for news, for the first time in my life, I wished that I wasn’t such a cynic. It would’ve likely made the waiting easier. After all, I had never much liked waiting.

But, alas, I was a cynic, and I could do nothing but worry and brood over all of the horrifying possibilities running through my mind.

Hours passed with no news except Eliza’s distant cries, and Peggy and Mr. Schuyler had to remind me, more than once, that I wasn’t allowed upstairs.

Mr. Carter even came in to comfort me once or twice, but he quickly left the room upon realizing that Mr. Schuyler was still in there.

“That wound is still quite fresh,” Peggy mumbled in my ear, causing me to snicker behind my hand.

Finally, after what was simultaneously an eternity and a second, night fell and Angelica cautiously entered the parlor.

I jumped up, and Peggy and Mr. Schuyler turned their full attention to Angelica. “Alexander, your wife and child would like to see you,” Angelica said brightly.

I stumbled up, partly from excitement and partly from multiple glasses of whiskey. “Yes, lead me to them.”

Angelica took my arm and led me up the stairs, watching me curiously. When I sent her a questioning look, she simply smiled. “I do believe you’ll be a great father, Alexander.”

Angelica opened the door to mine and Eliza’s room, revealing Eliza lying in bed, nursing a little baby in a white blanket.

I let out a sob and Eliza looked up, smiling tiredly. Mrs. Schuyler gathered up towels and a bin, handing them to Anna.

“I’ll leave you be.” Mrs. Schuyler smiled, leading Angelica and Anna out of the room. When the door closed, leaving only Eliza, our baby, and I in the room, Eliza beckoned me towards her.

“Come.” Her voice was hoarse, but it sounded indescribably elated. 

I walked towards her, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. “This is our baby boy,” Eliza said softly, revealing the tiny little baby boy nursing from her breast.

My hand flew to my mouth. “A son…” I dropped my head into my hands, crying tears of joy, of gratitude. 

Our son let out a little cry, and I couldn’t help the thought that it was perhaps the most beautiful sound that I’d ever heard.

Eliza pulled him away from her breast, holding him so that I could see him straight on, his bright eyes and apple like cheeks.

“May I…” I asked, and Eliza rolled her eyes fondly, handing him to me. I took our son gently, tears dripping down my cheeks. “I’m your father.” I ran my hand over his forehead.

“What shall we name him?” I asked, looking up at Eliza, rocking our son, holding him tightly to my bosom.

“I was thinking of Philip, after my father,” Eliza whispered, and I nodded.

“Philip Hamilton,” I mused aloud. Philip looked into my eyes as I spoke, and I took that as an approval of his name.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Eliza said softly, patting the place beside her on the bed. I cautiously climbed into bed beside her, still holding Philip tightly.

“He’s perfect.” Philip grabbed onto my thumb, and I just about cried. The thought came to me— completely unsolicited but welcomed nonetheless— that this was my _family._

My family.

Eliza rested her head on my shoulder, and we spent the next few hours just watching Philip breathe. Despite how illogical it was, I felt that if I didn’t watch him, he’d disappear as everyone else I’d dared to lovehad.

Later that night, I awoke to Philip’s soft cry. Eliza stirred, but did not wake, and I hurried to where we’d put Philip to sleep beside our bed.

“Hush, Philip,” I cooed, taking Philip in my arms, which quieted him. I laughed softly, walking him around the room.

“I love you, Philip, and so does your Mama. We will love you always and do everything in our power to give you the best life.” And I meant what I said.

I hadn’t had the perfect childhood, to say it nicely. My childhood was forever tainted in my mind, the vague memory of my father’s departure, the memories of sheets, damp with sweat, the sickening crack of a gunshot, and the crashing of waves. 

But Philip? I vowed, in that moment, that he would have the life that I hadn’t. He would always be showered in love, he’d never be abandoned, and I’d make sure that he’d became a fine young man, like me, but with the key difference that it wouldn’t be without help.

“I promise, Philip, I will help make this country one in which you can thrive.” I ran my hand over Philip’s smaller one.

And I would. Our country was new, so new, and there was still so much to do. I would make this country a safe place in which my son could grow.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you.” I kissed Philip’s head. 

I promised myself, in that moment, that I would never let harm come to my son. I would do everything in my power to keep him safe and sound, as well as the rest of my family.

If only I had had the foresight to have known that that promise would not be so easy to keep, and that to simply promise was not enough.

“Mrs. Hamilton has given me a fine boy, whose birth, as you may imagine, was attended with all the omens of future greatness.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Vicomte de Noailles, 04/04/1782

After Philip was born, I knew that I couldn’t remain in the peaceful solitude of Albany. The nation was being formed, and not only did I want to provide for my family, selfishly, I still wanted to prove myself.

So, in January, I petitioned the New York Supreme Court to grant me special wavers to become a lawyer, which they did.

And, as I studied, I also obtained a job, with the help of Robert Morris. In May, I was appointed for the position as the Receiver of Continental Taxes in New York.

It required day trips to York City, and while neither Eliza or myself enjoyed my leaving, we both grudgingly accepted it.

And, in July of seventeen eighty two, after months of long nights and days of studying, I passed the bar exam. But, despite my plans to become a lawyer, I soon realized that that wouldn’t last long.

On July twenty second, seventeen eighty two, I discovered that I’d been elected as a New York delegate to the Continental Congress.

I would be leaving in November. Eliza and the family cheered for me, and, when I watched Philip that night, I held him to me, thinking of how I now had the opportunity to directly affect the government of the country in which my son would grow up.

Everything was going perfect. Which was why I shouldn’t have been shocked when the letter came in October, shattering the illusion I’d held that maybe, just _maybe,_ everything could be okay.

I was sitting in the parlor with the Schuylers after dinner, Philip dozing on my lap. when the letter arrived. “A letter for you, Colonel Hamilton,” a servant said quietly, handing me the letter.

I glanced down at it, seeing the familiar handwriting of Major General Nathaniel Greene. I stood up and handed Philip off to Eliza.

“I’ll be but a moment.” I ran my hand over Eliza’s shoulder and hurried up to our bedroom, opening the letter after closing the door behind me.

The first few paragraphs were nothing but military information, including the news on the accusation made against Greene, which stated that Greene had failed to detect speculation among officers in his department. But the final paragraph contained news that I wasn’t ready for.

News that I would never be ready for.

_I regret to inform you of the passing of Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, on the twenty seventh of August, seventeen eighty two…_

I vaguely felt the letter slip from my fingers, fluttering to the floor. But I couldn’t focus on that. All I could focus on was the fact that John, my love, my heart, _my_ John, was dead.

Gone.

I forced myself to pick up the letter, reading on. John had apparently entered a battle at three in the morning, leading a force of fifty Delaware infantrymen and an artillery captain with a howitzer. With that, they rode toward Chehaw Point.

However, the British had been anticipating their attack. But John, being the reckless fool that he was, rallied his men, leading the charge, where he was shot from his horse, a fatal wound.

As I read on, it became harder and harder to breathe and to simply stand. Finally, I slammed to the floor, still holding the letter in my hands.

John, John, John… 

_Oh, John._

He was dead. He was gone. Well and truly dead, well and truly gone. I would never again see him smile, I would never again hear his voice, I would never again hold him in my arms.

He was _gone._ My John— the first person I’d ever allowed myself to really, truly, and genuinely love— was _gone._ Gone in an instant. In a petty skirmish, nevertheless. 

I clutched my head, tears streaming down my face like they’d never stop. Despite the fact that I was alone in the room, I had the urge to wipe my tears and hide my pain.

Despite my efforts, I couldn’t stop crying. The tears didn’t stop, because good _lord,_ my John— sweet, abrasive, sanguine, loving, warm, caring, _my_ John— was dead, gone from this terrestrial world.

“John,” I sobbed into my hands, and I wished to go back to Yorktown, to kiss him one last time, to hold him one last time, to be intimate with him one last time.

The memory of the first weeks I’d spent trying to hate John came to me, and I was overcome with a rush of hatred for _myself._

Why hadn’t I clung to him? Why hadn’t I realized that John was my— What was John? What was he to me?

No words were strong enough to describe what John was to me. My equal? My soulmate? My everything? Nothing was potent enough.

Because John was too good for words, and I had never been able to truly capture how I’d felt for him, anyways, despite my best efforts.

John, John, John…

I let out something between a sob and a cry, burying my face in my hands to muffle the sound, likely failing miserably.

But, at the same time, I didn’t have it in me to _care._

Why should I care? John Laurens was dead, he was gone, I’d never see him again, and everything was dark, obscure, and nothing mattered.

The sudden memory of the first time I’d been intimate with John passed through my mind, and I remembered with perfect clarity how I’d begged him not to leave me, and how I didn’t think I could take it if he did.

In the end, I was correct. I _couldn’t_ take it. I couldn’t understand it, I couldn’t do anything but think of John, who I’d barely written to in the past months.

John, who must’ve thought that I’d lost my love for him. 

I _hated_ myself. I disgusted myself. 

I loved John so much, but I had allowed myself to drift from him, and now he was gone, and I _hadn’t even been able to say goodbye._

I sobbed into my hands, wrapping my arms around my chest, tears and wails coming from my body with seemingly no intention of stopping.

John was dead, John was dead, and I didn’t understand why.

I didn’t _understand._

But I should have.

I let out another sob right as the door opened, revealing Eliza. “Alexander!” she gasped, dropping to her knees at my side. “Alexander, what’s happened? Alexander?”

I couldn’t answer her, I couldn’t speak. All I could say was, “John.” I sobbed again, burying my face in Eliza’s bosom.

“John?” Eliza repeated, her eyes going to the discarded letter on the floor beside me. I realized then, as Eliza picked it up, that I wanted to burn that vile thing.

I didn’t _want it._

After a long moment, Eliza’s eyes widened and she turned to me, her expression pitiful. “Oh, my love…”

“He’s dead,” I choked out, for it was all I could think, let alone speak.

“Oh, Alexander.” Eliza wrapped me in her arms, and I slumped against her, not moving, just listening to the beating of her heart.

Her heart, which still beated, unlike John’s.

“I don’t understand,” I sobbed, and Eliza nodded, rubbing her hands through my hair and over my back. 

Eliza said something, but I couldn’t make sense of it.

I couldn’t make sense of anything.

Because John Laurens was dead, and nothing made sense; because if things made logical sense, John Laurens would still be alive, with me.

But he wasn’t.

“I feel the deepest affliction at the news we have just received of the loss of our dear and inestimable friend Laurens. His career of virtue is at an end. How strangely are human affairs conducted, that so many excellent qualities could not ensure a more happy fate? The world will feel the loss of a man who has left few like him behind, and America of a citizen whose heart realized that patriotism of which others only talk. I feel the loss of a friend I truly and most tenderly loved, and one of a very small number.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Nathanael Greene, 10/12/1782

I barely slept for the next few days. I didn’t eat, I didn’t _want_ to eat. I didn’t want to do _anything at all._

Frankly, I didn’t want to live.

I ignored Eliza, I ignored Philip, and I ignored the Schuylers’ facile condolences. They didn’t understand. No one understood.

A few nights later, I sat in front of the fireplace in mine and Eliza’s room, having thrown the letter from Greene into the flames, watching as the horrible information it contained turned to ash.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and, not for the first time, I wondered why I had ever allowed myself to become attached to John.

Why had I allowed myself to love him so entirely?

I breathed in shallowly. This very thing had happened with every single person I’d ever allowed myself to love.

I’d lost them.

Why did I think John would be any different? Why did I think Eliza or Philip would be any different?

That thought sent a chill through my spine.

I wiped my tears and doused the fire, crawling into bed beside Eliza, now inexplicably frightened. Would Eliza leave me, too— of her own volition or not?

Eliza had told me that she’d never leave me, but so had John, so very long ago. 

I curled away from Eliza, and when Philip awoke that night, I allowed Eliza to soothe him instead of going myself. I feigned sleep, listening to Eliza’s soft, indiscernible murmurs to soothe Philip.

When Philip quieted, Eliza climbed into bed beside me, running her fingers through my hair and kissing my forehead.

“Oh, my love…” She trailed off and I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. Finally, Eliza spoke again. “I am dreadfully sorry about your dear friend.”

 _So am I,_ I thought bitterly, tightening my hold on the sheets.

I missed John, I wanted John, I regretted John.

“Poor Laurens; he has fallen a sacrifice to his ardor in a trifling skirmish in South Carolina. You know how truly I loved him and will judge how much I regret him.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to the Marquis de Lafayette, 11/03/1782

The next month passed by extraordinarily slowly, and I forced myself to write, to work, anything to not think of John, or the inevitable prospect of Eliza leaving.

Finally, in late November, I left for Philadelphia, where Congress was situated, and where I would be for the coming months.

As I was climbing onto my horse, Eliza stormed out of the house, holding Philip in her arms, livid rage painting a pretty picture of her face.

I sighed, jumping down from my horse and raising an eyebrow at her. “What is it, Eliza?” I asked, leaning against the horse.

Eliza looked right into my eyes as she spoke. “You’re killing yourself, Alexander. You’ve pushed me away… Why?”

I wanted to scream. _Because I don’t want to live in a world where John Laurens isn’t here,_ I thought. _Because we were supposed to go to Congress_ together _and now I’m going alone._

Instead, I moved to take Eliza’s hand, but she stepped back. “Eliza, I’m fine.” Even to me, it sounded like a blatant lie.

Eliza’s jaw dropped. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that lie?” Eliza pinched the bridge of her nose, approaching me slowly. “Alexander, I love you. I know you’re grieving the loss of your friend, but I’m your wife.” Eliza placed my hand over her heart. “I’m still alive. I’m here.”

I allowed myself, for just a moment, to listen to the beating of her heart, to remember that Eliza was still here.

“John was my… closest friend,” I said softly. “He told me he wouldn’t leave me, but he did. Everyone leaves.”

Eliza looked up at me and gingerly pressed our lips together. “I’m here. I won’t ever leave you.” Eliza took my hand. “And your son needs you.”

A prickle of guilt struck me and I took Philip, bouncing him on my hip. “I know.” I kissed Philip’s head, causing him to laugh— a joyous sound. 

I handed Philip back to Eliza and kissed Eliza again. “I will write to you when you should join me in Philadelphia.”

Eliza nodded, waving farewell and stepping away. “Be safe, please. That’s all I ask.”

I sped off, forcing all thoughts of John away. Eliza was here, she was still with me, and I didn’t want to think of John and all the promises that had died with him.

I arrived in Philadelphia in late November, taking up a house near to where Congress would meet. And, one night, while getting ale, I met the man that would be many things to me— my friend, my partner in law, my enemy.

At a nearby pub, I met James Madison.

James Madison wasn’t exactly imposing at first glance— or ever— to be completely honest. James Madison stood at barely five foot four, was dressed in all black, and was overall very gaunt and sickly.

But, for a reason I didn’t understand, I felt drawn to him, and I found myself sitting beside him, where he was taking notes.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked, nudging the chair across from where Madison was sitting. Madison looked up, his blue eyes piercing into mine in a way that made me feel as if I was being studied.

“By all means.” Madison waved at the chair and I sat across from him, setting my food and ale down on the table.

“So, I assume that you are Colonel Alexander Hamilton?” Madison asked, setting down his quill and looking into my eyes.

I nodded. “Yes. And that makes you James Madison?”

Madison shrugged. “The junior, but you are technically correct.” 

I nodded, taking a sip of my ale. “So, what is it that we’ll be discussing?” I asked.

Madison shifted slightly, handing me a page of notes, written in a small, neat hand. “The exchange of Charles Cornwallis.”

I hummed, my eyes scanning over the notes, already planning something to say.

On November twenty fifth, seventeen eighty two, I made my speech. In front of Congress, with Madison taking notes at the front, I spoke.

“I espouse ratification,” I said, my hands clasped behind my back. “Despite Cornwallis’ less than kind actions to his prisoner— Henry Laurens— I still say he should be exchanged.”

Before anyone could interject, I continued speaking. “Gentleman, intimations had already been made by Colonel John Laurens, the prisoner’s son—” I silently praised myself for keeping my voice level while saying John’s name, “—on behalf of the army, with the privy of General Washington.”

I sat down and Edward Rutledge stood up, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. “I second the motion, as made by Mr. Ramsey and promoted by Mr. Hamilton.”

I grinned. Rutledge held out a hand as a few people began to protest. “I say that the discharge should be ratified, in case Mr. Laurens should undertake the office of commissioner for peace.”

A few people, including myself, nodded. 

“Col: Hamilton who warmly & cogently espoused the ratification, as an additional argument mentioned, that some intimations had been given by Col: Laurens of the army with the privity of Genl. Washington, to Cornwallis previous to his capitulation, that he might be exchanged for his father, then in the Tower.”

Excerpt of James Madison’s ‘Notes of Debates in the Continental Congress’, 11/25/1782

After another hour or so of arguing, the issue was withdrawn for the time being. Around me, I could still hear people discussing it, and I had to force myself to leave the room, because I didn’t want to think of John.

John, who should’ve been debating this at my side.

Once I’d stepped outside, I was once again face to face with James Madison, who was holding a packet of papers tightly to his chest.

“Hello, Mr. Madison,” I greeted, smiling down at Madison, who sent me something akin to a smile, but appeared more as a grimace.

“Hello, Mr. Hamilton. I take it that you are on your way to eat?” Madison asked, beginning to walk. I followed him.

“Yes. Are you?” I asked. If he was, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go with him. Madison would be a good person to have as an ally, after all… 

Madison nodded and I spoke up. “Then, please, allow me to buy you dinner.” I looked down at Madison, silently begging him to take my offer.

Finally, after a long moment of silence, Madison nodded, and we began to walk in the direction of the nearby pub.

When we were seated, Madison placed his hands over each each other, setting them atop the table. I mirrored him.

“So, what do you think of the debacle with Mr. Laurens?” Madison asked, taking a bite of his soup.

I stiffened slightly. “I’d assume you know my beliefs already?” I asked, and Madison actually laughed, shrugging.

“You are correct. What I mean was: why are you so passionate about it? No one else approached it with quite as much…” Madison waved his hand. “Gusto as you.” Madison looked at me deeply, and I once again felt as if I was being studied.

“I was good friends with his eldest son, John, while fighting in the war.” I took a large gulp of ale. “I feel it is my duty to my friend, who is now deceased.”

Madison made a satisfied noise. “That is admirable.”

I shrugged. “So, what do you think of paying off our debts?” I asked, because that was a topic I could discuss without the risk of tears.

“What do _you_ think?”

I laughed dryly. “I think we should raise taxes on commerce and tariffs. We need tariffs, because other than providing us revenue, they will help us to rely less on other countries and be truly independent, not just paper.”

Madison nodded. “You are very much correct.”

I grinned. “I’m glad you agree.”

And, in that moment, I believed that I’d found myself an ally. And I was technically right.

But I was also very, very wrong.

The next weeks I spent missing Eliza, _longing_ for Eliza. And, when I dozed off at night, my dreams were haunted with the memories of John’s clear blue eyes, Eliza’s distant cries while giving birth, and screams of people dying.

I woke up nearly every night breathing heavily. And, if I hadn’t already fallen asleep at my desk, I trudged up to my desk, beginning to write.

I didn’t want to think of my pain, and I didn’t want to dedicate any more of my time to my woes, not when I could be harvesting it towards something useful.

Something that could make a difference.

In December of seventeen eighty two, I was hit with the sudden realization that I needed Eliza, I needed her warmth, and I desperately missed Philip and his innocence, still unmarred of the horrors of reality.

So, I found myself writing to Eliza, begging her to come to Parsippany, New Jersey— where she had relatives and I could fetch her.

So, in January of seventeen eighty three, I found myself traveling to Parsippany to fetch Eliza at her relative’s home, the Van Cortlandts.

After traveling for a few days, late in the evening, I found myself at the Van Cortlandts, where Eliza and Philip were.

I knocked on the door, fiddling with the edge of my gloves when a servant opened the door. “Who might you be?” she asked.

I stood up straight. “I am Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton. I’m here to collect my wife and child.”

The servant nodded, stepping aside to allow me in the house. “Come.” I followed her into the parlor, where Mrs. Cortlandt was standing, and across from her sat Eliza.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” the servant introduced me. Eliza immediately looked up, her eyes bright and her smile wide.

I stepped towards her, kissing the back of her hand. “Eliza,” I muttered, under my breath, still standing. “I hope I didn’t you keep you waiting too long?”

Mrs. Cortlandt answered my question before Eliza could. “Oh, I assure you, you haven’t, Colonel. Eliza arrived barely an hour or so ago.”

I nodded my head in recognition as Eliza stood up, wrapping her hand around my arm. “I will go fetch Philip and our bags.”

I nodded, watching as she walked away.

When we’d loaded everything into the carriage, after a thank you and farewell, Eliza and I made our way to the carriage, and I instructed the driver to set off.

I quickly took Philip into my arms, kissing his chubby little cheeks, watching with joy as he smiled, smacking my nose in return.

I chortled, kissing the top of his head. “So, my darling, how is your family?” I asked Eliza, pressing our shoulders together.

“They’re fine.” Eliza shrugged, turning to me. “How are _you?”_

I sighed. “Eliza, tell me you haven’t been fretting over me for the duration of our absence?”

Eliza looked away sheepishly. “You were grieving when you left. I worried that you’d allow yourself to rot with no one to watch you.”

I rolled my eyes fondly, capturing Eliza’s lips with my own. “You needn’t worry, my better angel. I’m here and I’m alright.”

Eliza placed her hand atop mine, and I placed my other hand over her’s. “I know, my love.” Eliza cupped my cheek with her free hand. “I know.”

Immediately upon entering our rented house, my arms were around Eliza, and she pressed her cheek to my chest.

I sighed happily, kissing the top of Eliza’s head and just enjoying her presence. “I missed you,” I mumbled. “So much. You… goodness, Betsey, you have no right to enslave and tantalize me like this.”

Eliza leaned up on the tips of her toes to kiss me, and I pulled her closer to me, not even berating myself for becoming maudlin.

“I missed you, too,” Eliza whispered, kissing me softly, her hands going to pull my hips to hers, and I groaned into Eliza’s mouth.

When we pulled away, I ran my hands through Eliza’s hair. “Oh, Betsey…”

“Hush.” Eliza pulled me towards the bed, pressing her body against me. “I’ve missed you and I want you. Desperately.”

Eliza looked up at me from under her eyelashes, and I smiled, pressing her down onto the sheets, my lips flying to her collarbone.

And, that night, when I awoke, it was with the sun, not visions of things I’d prefer not to remember.

In March of seventeen eighty three, a committee including Madison, John Rutledge, Nathaniel Gorham, and myself began forming a plan to solve the issue of requisitions that Congress was implementing into the states.

The main issue was based upon how exactly to distribute requisitions based on population… free and not.

People wondered how slaves would be counted. Would they be half of a free man? A fourth? And, because of the north and south’s differing priorities, we had to tread lightly.

So, each night, Madison, the others, and I found ourselves making notes, writing down ideas, and lamenting the probable backlash we’d be hit with whenever it was that our proposal was finished.

“What of three fifths?” I mumbled, looking up from my mug. “Three fifths could work.”

Gorham shrugged. “Won’t the south dislike that?”

I raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Before Gorham could respond, Rutledge spoke up. “He’s right. As a southerner myself, I can guarantee that the south will think we’re taxing them too heavily, or something of the sort.”

I turned to Madison. “You own over a hundred slaves.” I pushed away the lingering thoughts of men standing in the heat as I checked off boxes. “What do you think?”

Madison bit his lip, running his fingers over our notes, seemingly contemplating the issue. Everyone watched in terrible anticipation for Madison’s answer.

Finally, he nodded. “I don’t think it’s an _awful_ idea.”

I successfully resisted the urge to thrust my fist into the air in joy. I nodded, jotting down the number in my notes. “Three fifths it is.”

A few days later, our committee stood in front of Congress with our proposal ready. I cleared my throat, stepping forward. “We have come up with a solution. A three fifths compromise, one might say.”

At everyone’s confused expressions, I elaborated. “We can tax slaves as three fifths of a human. This will properly divide and allocate taxes equally among the north and the south.”

Madison stepped up and I stepped back. “For example, a slave owner— such as myself— who owns, let’s say, one hundred slaves, will count as sixty one, including oneself in that calculation.” 

Madison bowed his head, and I wondered what John would have made of all of this. John, who was supposed to come to Congress with me. John, who should’ve been standing beside me instead of lying six feet under ground… 

I was broken from my rapidly spiraling thoughts by a southern delegate from North Carolina, who stood up and spoke.

“Good sirs, I would deign to say that you’re overestimating the value of slaves!” I almost laughed at how offended he looked.

Right as I was about to respond, a delegate from New Jersey stood up. “I say you’re _underestimating_ the value of slaves! They’re how the south makes profit. For something so critical to their livelihood, they certainly aren’t being taxed enough to show it.”

And so on it went, debating and defending, debating and defending. Until, finally, we took a vote, and Congress approved it.

Unfortunately for us, because of the Articles of Confederation that our government was based upon, if all of the states didn’t ratify a law, it wouldn’t be implemented.

And, because all of the states did not ratify, our compromise was never passed.

“It’s absurd, Eliza!” I yelled, pacing from wall to wall in our little house. “We can’t go on with _this_ as our system. We won’t last. Not to mention our economy…”

Eliza was suddenly at my side, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I know, my love. I understand. But it is getting late, and you need to sleep.”

I rolled my eyes, but I allowed Eliza to lead me to bed nonetheless.

In the middle of June, I bid Eliza and Philip adieu, as sickness roamed in the heat caused by summers in Philadelphia, and I sought to protect my family from it.

And it turned out to be excellent timing for me to send Eliza and Philip away. A few days before I sent Eliza and Philip off to the relative safety of Albany, we received a message from soldiers who’d served in our war for independence, and they were demanding payment.

It seemed that they didn’t realize that, as we were quite bankrupt, we weren’t much help to them. And, two days after we received the message, we were alerted that, in total, over five hundred angry soldiers had control of our weapons department.

On the morning of June twentieth, seventeen eighty three, as Congress had just begun to read the agenda for that day, a servant ran up the stairs, horror displayed on his face.

“Sirs, there are soldiers blocking the doors! They have weapons.” 

Everyone in the room slowly turned to the windows, and, sure enough, there was a crowd of— at the very least— four hundred livid soldiers outside of the state house.

“Oh god,” I mumbled. Another delegate rushed past me, slamming the window shut so hard that I could see that glass shake.

“They’ll kill us!” Someone yelled, but I couldn’t figure out who, and I forced myself to focus on the angry soldiers— well, they were more like a mob.

“What do we do?” Someone else asked, and I walked up to Madison, who was mumbling to himself, so low that it was indiscernible.

“What do you suppose we do?” Madison looked up at me, quirking an eyebrow, his crystal blue eyes boring into mine.

I bit my lip, glancing back out the window. 

_We certainly couldn’t escape out a window, it was a far drop, and we’d face violent, blood hungry men with weapons in the streets…_

“We could talk to them,” I proposed. Madison and a few others in our vicinity turned to look at me— aghast— but stood my ground. “We could talk to them. After all, the pen _is_ mightier than the sword.”

And so, the delegates sent me outside to try and talk to the mob, a few delegates poised in the windows, guns cocked and ready to fire at the mob if things happened to go sour.

“Gentleman!” I yelled, straining my voice in an effort to be heard over the furious shouts. “Please, let us be reasonable about this.”

“Lynch him!” Someone in the crowd yelled, and I stepped back, hoping with every fiber in my being that this wouldn’t turn violent.

“Please, men, we want what’s best for you— for all of the citizens of America! If you would be reasonable and allow us to find a solution to lessen your pain, we could work this out civilly.”

The men silenced and I breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. After much discourse, it was agreed that we would meet later to discuss the men’s concerns.

After the mob dispersed, I was congratulated for buying us time— however limited it actually was— and that night a small group of men and I met to write to the Pennsylvania Council, asking for their protection from the sanguine mutineers.

“We are the governing body,” a man grumbled as we wrote our— in my humble opinion— reasonable request. 

“Yes, but they’d prefer not to admit that,” I mumbled, setting my quill back into the ink pot and running my thumb over my lip.

Elias Boudinot, who was the President of Congress and an old friend of mine, patted me on the back. “I’d assume that this is good enough, Alexander. I say that we adjourn.”

I nodded, and someone sent the letter off. _This had to work,_ I thought. _They had to listen to us._

They did not listen to us. The next day, The Congressional Committee met with the Pennsylvania Council, including their own president, John Dickinson.

“Sir,” Boudinot addressed the men, his hands clasped over each other, “we humbly ask you for more protection against those mutineers. Mr. Hamilton here managed to placate them, but they’ll surely come back.”

Everyone turned to Dickinson, who nodded slowly. “Alright. I will consult with our militia commanders. You’ll surely have an answer by tomorrow.”

When we adjourned, everyone was calm. The next morning, that calm evaporated. The Pennsylvania Council denied our request.

“Those slimy little bastards,” a delegate from Georgia snapped, slamming his palm on the table. “How dare they?”

I rubbed my temples, glancing nervously out of the window towards the bustling street, my stomach churning uncomfortably. 

“I suppose we’ll just have to take matters into our own capable hands,” I mumbled, tapping my fingers against the window pane.

“Resolved that the Secretary at war be directed to communicate to the commander in chief the state & disposition of the said troops, in order that he may take immediate measures to despatch to this City, such force as he may judge expedient for suppressing any disturbances that may ensue.”

Continental Congress Resolutions on Measures to be Taken in Consequence of the Pennsylvania Mutiny, likely written by Alexander Hamilton, 06/21/1783

That same day we wrote our resolutions, everyone packed their bags and set out for Nassau Hall in Princeton, New Jersey, which would become our new temporary capital.

Three days later, Washington, who had heard of the mutiny, sent fifteen hundred troops to quell the mutiny, under the capable command of Major General William Heath and General Robert Howe, both of whom had come out of retirement to fix our problem.

After months— years, really— of devoted service to my country, in August of seventeen eighty three, I resigned from Congress, aiming to return to Eliza and Philip, so we could finally begin our independent life together.

And, when I arrived in Albany in September, I was quickly caught up on what I had missed, such as Peggy eloping (in a fashion) with her cousin, Stephen Van Rensselaer, and the fact that the Carters were leaving for Paris.

Not only were they leaving for Paris, Angelica’s husband had quite the story to tell about exactly _why_ they were leaving for Paris.

Apparently, in August of seventeen seventy four, Carter— who’s real name was John Church— had fled to America from Europe to escape his creditors, as he had gone bankrupt after racking up many debts, an unfortunate result of gambling and stock exchange.

Upon his arrival in America, Church became a commissioner, appointed by the Continental Congress, in July of seventeen seventy six, with the responsibility to audit the accounts of the army in the northern department.

That was how he met Angelica. Once he retired from his job as a commissioner to Congress, with the help of a friend, Church had become a Commissary General, and, by the end of the war, they had become the sole suppliers to our army, making a fortune in the process.

Now that the war was over, his debts were paid, and his income here was no more, Church decided to return to his home continent, as an American Envoy to the French Government.

At the end of the tale, Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler, who had never liked Church very much on account of him eloping with their eldest daughter, looked like they would have slapped him if it was at all possible.

And, with everyone shocked into silence, Angelica and Church took that as their cue to take their leave.

Later that night, Eliza told me that she was shocked that Angelica hadn’t told her. Frankly, I wasn’t.

A few days later, the day the Churches were to leave, Angelica arrived at my bedroom door. I was alone with only Philip, as Eliza was downstairs.

“Come in, come in,” I said, stepping aside and allowing Angelica into the room, her lilac skirts swaying. “I’m afraid that Eliza isn’t here.”

Angelica shook her head, picking Philip up and kissing his pink cheeks. “No, I know. I… I have a request.”

I furrowed my eyebrows together. “What is your request?” 

Angelica turned to me, and only then did I notice the tears in her chestnut eyes. “I only ask that you watch over Betsey. I love her dearly, and I… I’ve always had some way to keep an eye on her. Now, I’ll be an ocean away, and—” Angelica cut off with a poorly hidden sob.

I placed my hand over Angelica’s. “I understand. And of course I will watch over her. She’s my wife; that is one of my jobs as husband.”

Angelica relaxed, leaning up to kiss my cheek. “Thank you, Alexander. You’re too kind.” She handed Philip back to me, and I watched her go.

But, right as she reached the door, she stopped. “Oh, and, Alexander?”

“Yes?”

Angelica smiled softly. “Don’t forget to write.”

On September third, seventeen eighty three, the Treaty of Paris was signed, officially bringing our war to the end and bringing America her official independence.

And, on November twenty fifth, seventeen eighty three, the British left New York, in a day that would come to be called Evacuation day.

Unfortunately, Eliza, Philip, and I missed that celebrated day, as we were on our way to New York, where I had acquired us a house, located at fifty seven Wall Street, where we arrived in early December.

On December fourth, a few days after we arrived in York City, Washington passed through the city, and was scheduled to say goodbye to his soldiers at Fraunces Tavern.

I didn’t go, despite Eliza’s not very subtle urging that I should. When Eliza asked, I simply told her that I didn’t want to go.

But that wasn’t it. No, it wasn’t. Because to go to that tavern would be to face the fact that John wasn’t there, he would never be there again.

To go to the tavern would be to realize that I was saying goodbye to the— despite my best efforts— first family I’d ever had.

To go to that tavern, I’d be forced to face a past that I didn’t want to face. I was a lawyer now, a lawyer who’d been a delegate to Congress. 

To go to that tavern was to dwell on the past, which I didn’t want to do.

I was Alexander Hamilton— soldier, burgeoning statesman, and lawyer. I was facing the horizon, looking towards my bright future. And nothing was going to bring me down.

How I wish that had turned out to be true.

_End of Part One_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: it’s all downhill from here.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I’m sorry it took a little longer to get out. The next chapter should be up in a few days. And, I know I always say this, but thank you SO MUCH for all of the comments and kudos! Not only are they great motivation to write, but they make my day! Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. Nathaniel Greene was the guy who actually informed Hamilton of Laurens, death, not Henry Laurens, who found out on November 12, 1782, through a letter from John Adams, of all people. Although, the letter from Greene to Hamilton doesn’t exist, we only know based on Hamilton’s letter to Greene, so the quote from the letter is fake.  
> 2\. Yes, the three fifths compromise was originally proposed by our own A.Hamilton. Chernow VASTLY overstates in his biography of Hamilton how much of an abolitionist Hamilton actually was. In life, he occasionally owned a servant or two, bought slaves for others, and, while he opposed slavery, he was sort of okay with turning a blind eye to it later in life because of the financial benefits. So that’s not nice. (I can never quite figure out Hamilton’s stance on slavery. Like, sometimes he’s VEHEMENTLY against it, other times he’s like ‘it sucks, but TAXES.’ It’s very confusing.)  
> 3\. The events with The Philadelphia Mutiny of 1783 all actually happened, and Hamilton was the one sent out to try and placate the crowd.  
> 4\. The Fraunces tavern thing actually happened. And, while Hamilton never actually wrote if he attended or why not, (as far as I know) there is no historical record of him attending. (Which I do know.)  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you SO MUCH, again, for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you all have a nice day.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 12, 1784-September 17, 1787

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Part Two: To Fall

  
May _12, 1784, York City, New York_

On May twelfth, seventeen eighty four, directly defying one of the clauses in the Treaty of Paris which had ended our war for independence, the New York City legislature passed a law denying Loyalists of the right to vote for the next two years. 

After the war had come to an end, many tories and loyalists remained in York City, and many of the good patriots of the cities seemed to think that they were all awful, as if they were all the ones to blame for our little war.

“This is madness, Eliza,” I ranted, pacing back and forth. “How can this stand?” I turned to face Eliza. “This is _directly_ defying the Treaty of Paris!”

“Well, someone should do something about it,” Eliza said, looking at me pointedly. I sighed, nodding my head.

“I’ve tried, Betsey.” And I _had._ In January of seventeen eighty four, I had begun writing a series of essays under the pseudonym “Phocion”, railing against the unfair treatment tories were receiving.

Suffice to say, my essays hadn’t made a difference in the slightest. 

Eliza nodded, stepping up to me and taking my hands, rubbing soothing circles over the back of my hands. “I’m sure an opportunity will arise soon. After all, I am with child and that’s a good motivation, wouldn’t you say?”

My face softened and I placed my hand over the swell of Eliza’s stomach. Eliza was now pregnant with our second child, and that only added to the pressure I was feeling to succeed.

“You’re right, my darling.” I leaned down and kissed the tip of Eliza’s nose, resting our foreheads together.

“Aren’t I always?” Eliza mumbled and I rolled my eyes. When we pulled apart, Eliza squeezed my arm. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to be heard. You are Alexander Hamilton, after all.”

I nodded, watching as Eliza left the room. Eliza was right; she had to be. An opportunity would arise soon. 

I was sure of it.

My awaited opportunity arose in July, when I was hired to defend loyalist Joshua Waddington.

The story went that in seventeen seventy six, a patriot named Elizabeth Rutgers had left behind her brewery to escape the incoming British. 

In seventeen seventy eight, the Waddingtons took over the brewery, which had been scavenged, and then spent their own money refurbishing it, which came to a total of over seven thousand pounds.

And, in seventeen eighty, the Waddingtons began to pay rent to the British army.

A few years later, on November twenty third, seventeen eighty three, a fire had incinerated their brewery. Mrs. Rutgers, now back in York City, went to the mayor and demanded the Waddingtons pay her the eight thousand pounds of rent from the years they’d owned it.

Despite the controversy of my taking the side of Joshua Waddington, I didn’t regret it. It was quite obvious to me that this would be an invaluable opportunity to test exactly how well the Trespass Act— a law that allowed Patriots whose land had been seized or damaged by Loyalists during the Revolution to recover the damages— would hold up in court.

On June twenty ninth, we presented our arguments. The defense’s lawyers consisted of Brockholst Livingston, Morgan Lewis, and myself.

The prosecution consisted of Egbert Benson, John Laurence, and my old friend, Robet Troup.

“Hamilton!” Troup exclaimed, strolling up to me and shaking my hand.

I smiled. “Troup, it’s a pleasure to see you again. It’s unfortunate that we’re on different sides of the courtroom…”

Troup shrugged. “Don’t worry, Hamilton. I won’t go too hard on you.”

I snorted, clapping his shoulder. “Oh, I’m not extraordinarily concerned.” 

I walked back to where Waddington and my assistant council was sitting. As we waited for the five preceding aldermen to enter, Mayor James Duane, I went over my notes, trying to commit what I needed to say to memory.

Finally, just as I was beginning to twitch, we all rose as the alderman entered. Then, we sat, and I waited for our cue to go, looking at my notes out of the corner of my eye.

I stood up, clasping my hands behind my back. “Gentleman of the jury, I believe that I may say, with full confidence, that all know why we are here today. On the off chance that you do not, we are here to determine who will pay; to decide an outcome for these two squabbling parties.”

I gestured to Mrs. Rutgers and Mr. Waddington, taking a deep breath in before I continued. “Everything that occurred with the Waddingtons is completely legal. By renting the land to them, the British, whom the Waddington’s paid taxes to, abided by the law of nations, which, if you remember, allows for the use or occupation of war time property within occupied territory.”

I listened as people made notes, and I took strides across the floor, rapidly gaining confidence as I went.

“Now, if you’ll indulge me, the Treaty of Paris says what exactly?” I tapped my chin. “Right! That loyalists and tories are not, under any circumstances, to be treated badly because of their beliefs. The so-called ‘Trespass Act’ not only violates the law of nations, but the Treaty of Paris, which, might I remind you, was ratified by Congress.”

I clapped my hands together. “So, now that we’ve established that, I feel that I need to remind the court that the Trespass Act is— or should be— considered void. I beg the jury to do the right thing.”

I bowed my head, walking back to the defendant’s table, sitting down straight, and I couldn’t help my smile at the obvious eyes on me.

After a long moment, the prosecutors were called up. As Troup stood, from the corner of my eye, I could see him glare at me.

I shrugged, grabbing a quill to begin to take notes on whatever it was that they had to say.

Troup stood up, clearing his throat. “We need to assert state supremacy. The states have power, and if we deem the law to be valid, though it is valid, even in face of the federal government. Congressional action _does not_ bind what the states think should be done.”

And so on it went. Privately, I could concede that it was a somewhat valid argument, as we hadn’t decided exactly what the shape of our government would be.

And that was the biggest question of all. How exactly would our government be shaped? Because one thing was certain: we couldn’t go on as we were.

In mid August, Duane delivered his verdict: a split one, to be specific. He decided that Mr. Waddington would pay Mrs. Rutgers rent for the few years before they began to pay rent to the British army. 

With my advice, Mr. Waddington negotiated a compromise with Mrs. Rutgers, and ended up only paying about eight hundred pounds, thousands less than he’d originally been charged with before the trial.

The trial made it into the papers, and I was suddenly flocked with loyalists and tories asking for my help in court.

It seemed that I’d found my niche.

On September twenty fifth, seventeen eighty four, Eliza gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, who we named Angelica, in honor of Eliza’s older sister.

We wrote to the Churches, requesting that they come to America, but they still remained in Europe, which broke Eliza’s heart.

But, despite that, we weren’t exactly lacking in entertainment and friends, as we had many people at dinner, such as Gouverneur Morris— whom I had briefly met during the war— the Baron Von Steuben, and, perhaps most importantly, the Burrs.

Aaron Burr and his wife, Theodosia, lived at number three Tony Wall Street, not that far from where Eliza and I resided. 

Eliza had, somehow, managed to become friends with Mrs. Burr, and one night we found ourselves hosting the Burrs for dinner.

“I don’t trust him, Eliza,” I grumbled to Eliza as she did her hair at her vanity. “That man is dangerous.”

Eliza rolled her eyes, standing up and approaching me. “Alexander, you are letting your biases impune on your better judgement. Now, I’ll tie your cravat.”

I handed Eliza the cravat, sighing. “I have known Burr longer than you,” I muttered, watching the careful concentration on Eliza’s face. “Alexander, you needn’t become the best of friends. I only ask that you keep things at least mildly civil.”

I huffed, but I relented, kissing Eliza softly. “You have too much power over me, my darling.” Eliza giggled as I ran my hands over her waist. “You are bewitching. You’d put the goddess Aphrodite herself to shame.”

Eliza blushed, pinching my cheek. “You flatter me. Now, let us go downstairs and wait for the Burrs.”

We didn’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes, the Burrs had arrived, arm in arm and dressed very nicely.

“Mrs. Burr,” Eliza greeted, kissing Mrs. Burr’s cheek. “You look lovely.”

“As do you,” Mrs. Burr responded, turning to Burr. “I don’t believe you’ve met my husband?”

Eliza shook her head. “No, I haven’t, but my husband has.”

I nodded at Burr. “It’s been too long, Major. I’ve heard of some of the law cases you’ve taken on. I’d say that congratulations are in order.”

Burr shrugged. “Thank you. Really, the congratulations should be yours. You’ve become quite a well known figure.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Eliza smiled at Mrs. Burr. “Please, Mrs. Burr, let me show you the house.” With a final look in my direction, Eliza left the room, Mrs. Burr in tow.

“Let me pour you brandy,” I offered, walking over to our liquor cabinet and pouring Burr a glass. “Here.”

Burr nodded stiffly. “Thank you, Colonel.”

I waved my hand dismissively, pouring a glass of brandy for myself. I had a distinct feeling that I’d need it.

After a half hour of stilted small talk, Anna entered the room, informing us that dinner was ready. I led Burr to the dining room, where Eliza and Mrs. Burr were already sitting.

I sat down beside Eliza, and we began to make ourselves plates. “Oh, Mr. Hamilton, I thank you for your hospitality,” Mrs. Burr said, smiling brightly.

I shook my head. “It is my pleasure, really. My wife and I are honored to have both you and your husband here with us tonight.” 

Mrs. Burr nodded, taking a sip of wine, and everyone turned back to their food and drink. Despite the occasional compliment or comment, dinner was a quiet affair.

After we’d bid the Burrs adieu and Eliza and I had crawled into bed, Eliza turned to me, the corners of her lips upturned.

“Oh, Alexander, I can’t take it any longer!” Eliza exclaimed. “Did you know that Mrs. Burr had been previously married to a British officer!”

I gasped, turning to Eliza, who now had my full attention. “Do tell, Betsey.”

Eliza grinned, moving towards me. “It gets more interesting. Mrs. Burr was having an affair with Mr. Burr while married! That’s how they met.”

My eyes widened. “That’s…” I didn’t have anything to say about that. Burr— cautious, careful Burr— had had an affair?

I whistled slowly. “Who knew that Burr could do such a thing?” I asked, and Eliza shrugged.

If only I’d known what exactly Burr was capable of.

In June of seventeen eighty five, the Churches returned to America, albeit for only a quick trip before they would move to London.

First they arrived in Philadelphia, then they traveled to York City, where they would stay in a nearby townhouse.

Eliza and I were sitting inside of our hallways when there were the sounds of hooves outside of our house, and Eliza jumped up, peeking out of the curtains.

“Angelica’s arrived!” Eliza opened the door and flew out of the house, running up to Angelica, who swiftly embraced Eliza.

“Angelica!” Eliza cried, holding her elder sister tightly. “Oh, how I’ve missed you so.”

Angelica nodded, cupping Eliza’s cheeks. “How I’ve missed you too, Betsey.” Behind us, Anna exited the house, holding Philip’s hand and holding baby Anne.

I took Anne and Philip bounded up to Angelica, who gasped. “Little Philip? You’ve grown so big since the last time I saw you.”

“I’m a big boy,” Philip said, his smile so wide that his teeth were visible.

I walked up to Philip, ruffling his hair. “Yes, you are.” I bounced Anne on my hip. “This is baby Angelica, but you should call her Anne.”

Angelica beamed. “Hello, Anne.” I handed Anne off to Angelica, who took her in her arms and bounced her.

Eliza smiled sweetly, moving to stand beside me. “Now, Angelica, where are my sweet nieces and nephews?” Eliza asked.

Angelica smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, sweet Betsey, but they’re home with the nanny.” Angelica took Church’s arm. “We figured we’d engage in some adult time.”

Eliza nodded. “Right you are.” Eliza gently took Anne from me, kissing her nose. “I will bring the children upstairs. Come, Philip.”

I watched as Eliza, Philip, and Anne retreated, and I was hit with a pang of affection for my darling wife and children.

I shook my head, turning back to the Churches. “Come. Let me pour you wine?” They nodded and I led them inside, hurrying to the liquor cabinet.

Angelica smiled upon taking a sip of her wine. “This is Papa’s wine, isn’t it?” she asked, tapping the rim of her glass to mine.

I nodded. “Yes. Your father sent it to us as a housewarming gift.” My face took on a pinched expression.

Mr. Schuyler had insisted upon sending Eliza and I fruit, wine, sugar, and, sometimes, meat. Despite my requests for him to stop, he did not.

Eliza assured me that he did the same to Peggy, but I still didn’t like it, and the implication that I couldn’t care for my family.

Angelica nodded, taking another sip, successfully breaking me from my thoughts. 

“It is fine,” Church spoke up, swirling the glass. He took a sip, humming. “Very rich.” 

“Yes,” I agreed as Eliza entered the room, who grinned at the three of us and walked up to me, kissing my cheek.

I handed Eliza a glass of wine. “Thank you, my dear,” Eliza mumbled, taking a large sip. “I’m sorry for the delay. Anne didn’t want to let go of me. I hated to see her cry.”

Angelica waved. “You needn’t apologize, Betsey. Such is the plight of motherhood.”

Eliza nodded. “Yes.” Eliza pursed her lips together, then clapped her hands. “Well, what will we do to celebrate your arrival?”

Angelica rolled her eyes. “Nonsense, Betsey. At least for today, I only ask that you grace me with your company. Starting tomorrow, you may show me all of York City.”

“Oh, I assure you, we will,” I said, smiling. “Although, I warn you, men will undoubtedly be falling over themselves for you.”

“Oh, Colonel, it won’t be the first time,” Angelica retorted. “Although, with such a man on my arm, what will the people do?”

Everyone laughed and Eliza intertwined our fingers, squeezing my hand. “Whatever will they do…”

A few days later, Eliza and I hosted a dinner for the Churches. In attendance would be the Baron Von Steuben, Gouverneur Morris, and, to my distaste, the Burrs.

While Eliza was instructing Anna on how to set the table and where to seat everyone, I sat in the parlor with Angelica, both of us watching the children play.

“How long do you suppose you’ll stay?” I asked, turning to face Angelica, tilting my head to the side.

Angelica sighed heavily, shrugging. “I know not. Likely early August, or somewhere around that time period.”

I nodded. “That’s not very long.”

“I know.” Angelica tapped her fingers against her lap. “But London is new for me, which means I’ll never be lacking in entertainment and fun. And the fashion…”

“You’ll have to send Eliza a dress.” I laughed. “I think she’d enjoy something fine.”

“I likely will,” Angelica responded, her smile and eyes softening. “Betsey deserves a dress if it is what she wants.”

“You love her deeply,” I commented, watching Philip play with his cousin Elizabeth. “It’s very sweet and admirable.”

Angelica shook her head. “There is nothing admirable about it. She is my family, and it’s what family does for one another.” 

I shrugged. _Not that I’d know anything about that,_ I thought bitterly.

Luckily, I was saved from answering by Anna re-entering the room and collecting the children, taking them upstairs.

The Burrs arrived for dinner first, followed by Steuben, then Morris who clapped me on the back, wobbling slightly on his wooden leg, a side effect of an unfortunate carriage accident.

We sat down for dinner, Eliza beside me. The Baron grinned, breaking the stilted silence. “Thank you, again, Colonel Hamilton, for inviting me. I was very sorry, I must say, to recently hear about the passing of Colonel Laurens. We was a good friend.”

I nodded stiffly, pushing the memories from my mind. I was _not_ going to think of my past. I was not going to think of those painful memories.

 _The future,_ I reminded myself. “Yes, it was very unfortunate.”

Eliza cleared her throat. “Let us discuss happier things. Mr. Burr, I congratulate you on your success in work. I wonder if, now with your success, you’ll bless your wife with another child…”

Everyone laughed good naturedly and I squeezed Eliza’s hand under the table, immensely thankful for her subject change.

“Oh, maybe soon,” Mrs. Burr answered, and her and Burr exchanged a salacious look, much to the merriment of everyone else seated at the table.

“Write to us whenever you are again with child,” Angelica said, taking a bite of salmon. “I’ll need a reminder of my acquaintances and kin while in Europe, lest I become completely in the dark about the comings and goings here.”

Eliza laughed, shaking her head. “As if you would allow that, Angelica.”

Angelica nodded concedingly, taking a sip of wine. “You aren’t wrong, Betsey.”

After much more discussion, while desert was being brought out, Gouverneur Morris, somewhat drunk— although he certainly wasn’t the only one— stood up, swaying slightly and raising his glass.

“To American liberty, friendship and life!” Morris cried, and everyone stood, repeating the phrase and immediately downing our glasses, right as dessert arrived— gingerbread cake with caramel sauce.

As everyone ate, I observed them silently, pleasantly tipsy and genuinely happy. I desperately hoped that the feeling would last.

Once everyone had left, Eliza and I stumbled into our bedroom, both of us giggly and sensitive. I sucked on Eliza’s neck, pressing her against the wall.

“Oh, Alexander…” Eliza sighed happily, leaning up to kiss me. “I love you; you’re my husband.”

I gave Eliza a lustful look, capturing her lips. “And you’re my wife.”

Eliza nodded, pulling me into the bed so that I lay on top of her. “And I’m yours.” She gestured to her body. “Do what you will.”

I grinned. “Oh, I intend to.”

The Churches left for London in late July of seventeen eighty five, much to both mine and Eliza’s chagrin.

To soothe Eliza’s anxiety over their travels, I offered to escort them to Philadelphia, where they would board their ship.

The day we were to leave, Eliza and Angelica collapsed into sobs, clinging to each other. Angelica made Eliza promise to write, and Eliza agreed.

As I was grabbing my coat, I heard Eliza whisper to Church to take care of her sister, her expression vaguely wary.

When I walked Angelica out, I asked her about it.

Angelica sighed. “While Eliza was staying in Boston with me right after John and I had married, he made me cry and they had a spat over it.”

Angelica huffed out a laugh. “They are both too prideful to apologize to the other.”

I nodded in understanding, helping Angelica into the carriage and holding the door open for Church before I climbed into the carriage myself.

As we sat in the carriage, I looked out of the window, thinking of Eliza, at home, likely distressed, and I longed to fly to her side.

I leaned my head against the back of the seat, ignoring the Church children’s incessant chatter, instead closing my eyes.

But, despite my efforts and wishes, sleep did not find me, and I found myself thinking of my writing at home, and I realized that, for the first time in so long, I had a permanent residence; a home of my own.

The thought made something warm spread in my heart and I had a horrifying realization that it would only be a matter of time until something happened and it was all ripped away.

It had happened every other time in my life. When I felt I had a home, it was ripped away from me. There was no reason for the pattern to stop now.

I was broken from my thoughts by Angelica’s soft voice. “Alexander?” I jumped slightly, opening my eyes to look at Angelica, who continued. “You seemed to be thinking quite deeply there.”

I forced myself to laugh. “That is the incredible thing regarding me.” I paused. “I’m always thinking deeply.”

Angelica snorted, but her smile dropped quickly and she looked mournfully out of the window, her eyes dropping to her gloved hands and the fan tightly clasped in them.

We arrived in Philadelphia after about two days, and we stood in the harbor as Mr. Church went to find their boat.

Angelica puffed out a breath, turning to me and brushing her lips over my cheek. “I assume you know what I’m about to say, but I only ask that you watch over my dear little sister.”

I rolled my eyes good naturedly, lightly squeezing Angelica’s arm. “Of course, dear sister. You needn’t ask.” I cleared my throat. “I actually have a request myself.”

Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, do ask, don’t leave me tenterhooks.”

I took Angelica’s hand, looking into her eyes. “Do return home to us for good at some point. Not only will Eliza miss you, but so will I.”

Angelica nodded vigorously. “I will, of course.”

Church’s voice interrupted anything I might have said in response m, and I kissed Angelica’s cheek and shook Church’s hand.

As I watched them go, I couldn’t quite push away the thought that told me it would be quite some time before the Churches returned again .

“But now my Dear Sister let us talk a little of something else that interests us all much more nearly. You have I fear taken a final leave of America and of those that love you here. I saw you depart from Philadelphia with peculiar uneasiness, as if foreboding you were not to return. My apprehensions are confirmed and unless I see you in Europe I expect not to see you again. This is the impression we all have; judge the bitterness it gives to those who love you with the _love of nature_ and to me who feel an attachment for you not less lively.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Angelica Church, 08/03/1785

On January twenty first, seventeen eighty six, The Virginia Assembly called upon the other states to send delegates to Annapolis, Maryland for a convention to discuss trade.

And, in May of seventeen eighty six, I was chosen to attend the convention as a delegate to New York. At first, I was hesitant, as, on May sixteenth, Eliza had given birth to another baby named Alexander, though we called him Alex.

But, with Eliza’s insistent prompting that I should— raising the clever point that this was my chance to directly affect our government system— I accepted.

A few months later, on September first, after bidding Eliza and the children farewell, I left for Annapolis, where the convention would take place.

Upon my arrival in Annapolis, I found myself staying at Mann’s Tavern, which, to my immense gratitude, only charged a shilling a night.

At that tavern, I once again found myself face to face with James Madison, who, though I shouldn’t have expected any less, was one of the first ones to arrive.

“Ah, Mr. Madison,” I cheered, sitting down in front of him. Madison looked up, sending me a small smile.

“Colonel Hamilton.” He nodded, closing his notes. “I’m very excited to see you here today.”

I smiled, taking a sip of my ale. “As am I. Although, I must admit, I was taken aback by my nomination here.”

Madison looked at me curiously. “Why? You are a well known lawyer and overall very brilliant. Why wouldn’t they call upon you?”

I shrugged, because I couldn’t exactly say it wasn’t as if I came from a well known family with connections like most of the others there, but I had a distinct feeling that Madison might’ve already been aware of that fact.

“I suppose you are right.” I shrugged. “I am quite brilliant, aren’t I?”

Madison rolled his eyes. “So, do you think this meeting will serve to do what we intend to do?” Madison asked me.

Without even needing to think about it, I shook my head. “Of course not. To regulate trade between states and create borders will, undoubtedly, require a vote, and, under our weak government, if not everyone agrees, then we will have essentially gotten nowhere.”

Madison nodded, an impressed smile on his face, which I preened under. “You are correct, Mr. Hamilton. Which is why I intend to try and convince Congress to host another meeting of sorts, with the intention to…” Madison waved his hand thoughtfully. “To reform our Articles of Confederation.”

I grinned widely. “That sounds like exactly what we need.”

Madison made eye contact with me and we both exchanged looks. “It is. I’ve already started to outline it, and I know I’m not the only one who disagrees with our government system.”

I thought of my impassioned rantings and ravings to Eliza about our faulty government system, and I almost laughed.

“You are correct.” I raised my glass. “Here’s to hoping it comes to fruition.”

Madison huffed out a laugh, clinking his glass against mine. “Here’s.”

  
  


Much like we had anticipated, not many people came to the Annapolis Convention.

Only five states— New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Virginia— sent delegates, and even then, not all of them were fully committed to what we were trying to do.

The convention officially commenced on September eleventh, seventeen eighty six. I was sitting in my chair, beside Madison, when Egbert Benson, from New York, stood up.

He cleared his throat. “I propose that we start a… committee of sorts to determine what proper measures we should have.”

There was a chorus of agreement, and Benson nodded. “Alright. I propose that Mr. Abraham Clarke, Mr. Tench Coxe, Mr. George Read, and Mr. Edmund Randolph be on said committee.”

Everyone nodded and the four aforementioned men stood up, walking up to stand beside Benson, who grabbed a set of notes.

“It is inexpedient for this Convention, in which so few States are represented, to proceed in the business committed to them,” he said, and, again, everyone nodded.

He wasn’t wrong. With so few of us, especially if Madison wanted his plan to work, it would be necessary that we did what was needed to be done.

In the end, our little convention was a massive failure, in all ways but one. We got very little done, but, on September fourteenth, the final day of the convention, we wrote a letter to the state legislatures, as drafted by me.

In it, we discussed our lack of delegates and the convention itself, but, most importantly, we proposed a meeting, which would take place in May of the next year, to discuss how to strengthen our government.

After we’d signed and sent it out, I left Annapolis with a good feeling stirring within me. This would be good.

This was going towards something.

“Under this impression, Your Commissioners, with the most respectful deference, beg leave to suggest their unanimous conviction, that it may essentially tend to advance the interests of the union, if the States, by whom they have been respectively delegated, would themselves concur, and use their endeavours to procure the concurrence of the other States, in the appointment of Commissioners, to meet at Philadelphia on the second Monday in May next, to take into consideration the situation of the United States, to devise such further provisions as shall appear to them necessary to render the constitution of the Fœderal Government adequate to the exigencies of the Union; and to report such an Act for that purpose to the United States in Congress Assembled, as when agreed to, by them, and afterwards confirmed by the Legislatures of every State will effectually provide for the same.”

Excerpt of the Annapolis Convention’s Address on the Annapolis Convention, 09/14/1786

On January twenty fifth, seventeen eighty seven there was an attack on the Springfield Arsenal, as led by Daniel Shays, a veteran of our war for independence.

With Shays was Eli Parsons and Luke Day. Before the attack, at the last minute, Day had sent a message to Shays saying that they would not be ready to attack until the next day.

The message was intercepted by our country’s militia force, and when Shays and Parsons arrived at the arsenal, a small scuffle ensued. Four of Shays’ men were killed, and twenty were wounded.

After, they fled to Amherst, Massachusetts. When the news reached New York, I was furious.

“This is madness, Eliza!” I yelled, pacing back and forth from wall to wall, anger brimming within me. “We cannot afford this! It shows other governments that we’re weak.”

I ran my hands through my hair with shaking hands. “Other countries are just _waiting_ for us to fall. We fought and people _died_ for our independence! We cannot let it all fall away over some foolish, insubordinate men.”

Eliza stood up, taking my hands in hers. “Alexander, your hands are shaking. Breathe.”

I let out a deep breath. “Betsey, we cannot let our country fail.”

Eliza smiled softly, leaning up to cup my cheek. “I know, my love, but our country has nothing to worry about.” I frowned, and Eliza elaborated. “America has Alexander Hamilton backing her. It’ll be okay.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help my smile as I leaned down to gently press my lips to Eliza’s. “My darling girl, I don’t deserve you.”

Eliza shook her head. “It is not about deserve.” She wrapped her arms around my waist. “Please, know, my husband, that I will support you in all of your endeavors.”

Eliza cupped my cheek. “From the first moment I saw you, the very first, I knew that you’d be great. So great. But, please, you need to _rest.”_

I frowned. “Betsey—”

Eliza placed a finger over my lips. “Whether or not this convention is approved is not in your hands. So, I ask you, come to bed and lie with your wife.”

I couldn’t help my grin, and I ran my thumb over Eliza’s hip. “That is very tempting.”

Eliza raised an eyebrow. “But not enough? Then let me convince you.” Before I could respond, Eliza kissed my neck, her lips dancing up to mine.

When our eyes locked, I picked up Eliza, carrying her to the bed, all thoughts of work forgotten in the embrace of my lovely wife.

“We have had 13. states independant 11. years. There has been one rebellion. That comes to one rebellion in a century and a half for each state. What country before ever existed a century and half without a rebellion? And what country can preserve it’s liberties if their rulers are not warned from time to time that their people preserve the spirit of resistance? Let them take arms. The remedy is to set them right as to facts, pardon and pacify them. What signify a few lives lost in a century or two? The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is it’s natural manure.”

Excerpt of a letter from Thomas Jefferson to William Stephens Smith, 11/13/1787

After Shays’ Rebellion, on February twenty first, seventeen eighty seven, Congress approved a convention to revise the Articles of Confederation to take place in May in Philadelphia.

Perhaps it was the fear of a bigger rebellion that prompted Congress to act. Perhaps it was the realization that we would fall apart if we continued on as we were.

Whatever it was, I was grateful.

And, on February twenty eighth, when New York picked it’s delegates, I was one of the three chosen.

Of course, with me were two supporters of New York Governor George Clinton— who I had inherited as an enemy when I married into the Schuyler family— but that was something I assumed that I could work around.

While I was waiting for the Convention to begin, I served in the New York State Assembly from January twelfth to April twenty first, when the assembly concluded.

And, on May eighteenth, seventeen eighty seven, I arrived in Philadelphia.

On May twenty fifth, seventeen eighty seven at the Pennsylvania State House, the Constitutional Convention was called to order.

Because we were desperate to maintain privacy, the blinds were drawn, trapping all of the heat inside with us.

Immediately, Washington was appointed as President of the Convention. We all stood as Washington ordered that we form a committee to determine the convention’s rules.

With everyone’s agreement, George Wythe of Virginia, Charles Pinckney of South Carolina, and myself were picked to determine the convention’s rules.

On May twenty eighth, three days later, we proposed the rules we’d drawn up. I stood up straighter, clearing my throat.

“We propose two rules. One: no one is authorized to speak to _anyone,_ even family, about what occurs within this room. We would like to keep this room free of judgement.”

I paused to observe everyone’s expressions, most of which were agreeable. With satisfaction, I continued to speak

“Second: we agree that everyone one in this room may request that a decision be reconsidered, regardless if it’s seemingly been decided.”

I sat down and Washington stood up. “We will take a vote. Everyone who agrees, say ‘I’.”

I dug my nails into my hand. Luckily, almost everyone agreed to our rules, and I breathed out a sigh of relief.

And, although I didn’t know it then, it would be the last time that summer that almost everyone unanimously agreed on anything.

The next day, on May twenty ninth, Edmund Randolph of Virginia stepped up to present his idea of what our new constitution should look like, what history would one day refer to as the ‘Virginia Plan’.

Although Randolph wasn’t as diminutive as Madison or as imposing as Washington, he had an undeniable ability to draw one to him.

Randolph opened his mouth and I leaned back in my chair to listen to what he had to say. “First of all, I think we should discuss our union’s problems. Namely, the recent rebellion in Massachusetts.” 

Everyone hummed, and Randolph nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “I say, the imbecility of the Confederation is to blame, and the only threat to America’s freedom is _too much_ democracy.”

A few people gasped, and murmurs could be heard from around the room. “Silence,” Washington said, his voice booming, and the room was once more silent, except for the scratching of Madison’s quill as he took notes.

Randolph continued. “I propose fifteen resolutions.” He shuffled a few papers of notes, his eyes scanning them quickly.

“I propose a legislature of two houses, with the national government superior to the states, power wise, and equipped with the power to veto state laws. Assemblies chosen by the people will have the power to ratify the Constitution.”

Randolph held up two fingers. “Second, all of the power will emerge from a single legislative body.” People muttered and Madison’s quill flew on the paper as Randolph continued. 

“The people will elect the first house of legislature, which will control the rest of the government. The first branch will appoint the second branch. Together, those two bodies will have the power to elect the president and appoint all judges.”

Randolph sat down, and the room was silent as Charles Pinckney stood up, proposing _his_ plan for the government. 

From the corner of my eye, I could see Madison set down his own quill. I hummed to myself, thinking over the previous suggestion.

Personally, I didn’t agree with it. Not only did it fail to describe what powers the national government would be equipped with, it didn’t recognize the state’s sovereignty.

So, personally, I wasn’t a supporter of that plan in particular, but I held out a candle of hope that there would be a plan I would be able to agree with.

Two days later, on May thirtieth, a group of forty one delegates, named The Committee of the Whole— surmised of the men who supported the Virginia Plan— turned to that particular plan.

Also on that day, Washington stepped down to sit with the rest of the Virginia delegates. A delegate from Massachusetts, Nathaniel Gorham, stepped up, although he paled in comparison to Washington.

For a long time, there was silence. I waited for someone to speak, but no one broke the stifling silence we were plunged into.

Finally, George Wythe stood up, coughing awkwardly. “I presume from the silence that the delegates are ready to vote?”

Everyone nodded, and my friend Gouverneur Morris of Pennsylvania stood up. “I’m my opinion, the first resolution is unnecessary, as the subsequent resolution would not agree with it.”

With Morris having fully broken the silence, Charles Pickeny spoke up, turning to address Randolph. “Do you mean to abolish the state governments all together, good sir?”

Randolph fidgeted in his seat, but, despite all of the eyes on him, he didn’t speak. 

Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts voiced his question next. “Have the state legislatures even given us permission to do anything other than amend the Articles of Confederation?”

I rolled my eyes. 

The next thing was a proposal to eliminate the one stage one vote rule, which, when looking at my fellow New York delegates, opposite me in every opinion, I decided that I wasn’t opposed to changing that rule.

However, the legislation of Delaware had forbidden its delegates from agreeing to a change such as that.

And, that night, after we’d adjourned, I wondered what _exactly_ we were here to do. Amend the Articles? Change them?

It wasn’t clear.

Despite that issue, a much more important one was soon to be discussed.

The issue of slavery.

On June eleventh, seventeen eighty seven, James Wilson of Pennsylvania proposed what we should do about slavery, the first truly sweltering day of summer.

But, first, Wilson offered a resolution for the first branch of our government. “I propose that it should be an equitable ratio of representation.”

After much debate, Wilson spoke up again, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Doctor Franklin himself had thrown his ideas on the subject onto paper.”

There was a pause, and Wilson read aloud from Franklin’s notes, successfully rendering the whole room silent.

After, we voted. Three small states voted no and Maryland deadlocked. The states in the Deep South agreed with the larger states, and the plan was adopted.

But, with that, came the issue of how exactly to count the population. How would the enslaved population be counted?

With that question on everyone’s mind, Wilson stood up once more, ready to speak. “The allocation of seats will be determined on an equitable ratio of representation to the whole number of whites and other free citizens and inhabitants, and three fifths of all other persons not comprehended in the foregoing description, except Indians not paying taxes.”

From across the room, Madison and I exchanged a look.

Again, Elbridge Gerry spoke, which he would do over one hundred and fifty times that summer. “In the south, blacks are property and are used as horses and cattle,” Gerry protested. “Why should their representation be increased to the southward on account of the numbers of slaves, than horses or oxen to the north?”

His insightful question was answered with nothing but silence. There was no real way to answer that, as he wasn’t wrong, per say.

We quickly took a vote, which ended up being nine to two, and that ratio was adopted.

Swiftly, Roger Sherman of Connecticut stood up, his own proposition ready. “I propose that for the second branch, it only be one vote per state.”

I shook my head. “I agree with Mr. Wilson. If it applies to the first house, what stops it from applying to the second? It is only logical.”

We then voted, and Sherman’s proposition was voted down five to six.

Wilson was soon standing up again, ready to speak. “I propose the same ratio of representation as the lower house.”

The vote passed as six to five.

  
  


On July fifteenth, what would come to be called the New Jersey plan was proposed by William Patterson of New Jersey.

Compared to the Virginia plan, the New Jersey plan actually added on to the Articles of Confederation, unlike the Virginia plan which did so only in theory.

With the New Jersey plan, Congress had the power to regulate trade, though it would still have to make requisitions.

Patterson proposed that Congress would elect an executive for a single term, and, if the majority voted so, they could be removed.

However, the New Jersey plan would continue to have us go on with a one house Congress, with each state having one vote, with the key difference that on some occasions, only nine votes would be needed to pass something.

And, of course, John Lansing of New York agreed with Patterson, giving an uninspiring argument, in my humble opinion.

On June eighteenth, I finally decided that I wanted to speak. So, that Monday morning, I seized the floor.

I cleared my throat, clasping my hands together. “The voice of the people has been said to be the voice of God. It is not true in fact.”

I paused, breathing in deeply. “The people are turbulent and changing; they seldom judge or determine right. I say it’s better to give power to the rich and well born, not to the mass of the people.”

A few people nodded, and I continued. “I say the states are a useless excrescence. The cost of national government would be acceptable, _if_ it eventuates in an extinction of state government.”

I shrugged. “Although, I do concede that states might be useful if reduced to corporations, and with very limited powers.”

A few delegates hummed in silent approval, but most look vaguely scandalized. Madison, who had briefly paused in his writing, looked at me deeply.

I continued. “No _good_ executive could be established in Republican principles. The English model was a good one”

Despite our people’s thoughts on the British, their system of government was, frankly, brilliant. It would be foolish to deny that fact.

“The British government was the best in the world. Truly, I doubt whether anything short of it would do in America.”

I continued to speak, the ticking clock nothing more than a background noise. “I propose that the chief executive and senators serve for his entire life.” Before anyone could protest, I held out a hand. “Monarch is an indefinite term. _Any_ executive would function like a monarch, even if only for a term of years.”

I continued to speak. After six hours of talking, most people looked exhausted, and only Madison and Washington— now back in the President’s chair— remained alert.

Finally, I finished my speech. “As for the decision between the Virginia and New Jersey alternatives? They can be likened to pork, still, with a little change of the sauce.”

That day, I was praised by many, but supported by none.

When Madison spoke the next day, he didn’t mention my speech and I spoke again, explaining that I’d only meant that the states only be extinguished as states in and of themselves, but they could continue as subordinate jurisdictions.

After I spoke again on July twenty ninth, discussing the torn convention, torn over many things, the next day I left for New York.

When I returned home to New York, I let out a sigh of relief as I climbed down from the carriage, grabbing my bags and entering the house.

Once I’d set down my bags, I ran into Anna. “Mr. Hamilton!” she exclaimed, smiling sweetly at me. “What a nice surprise.”

I nodded. “I did intend it to be. Now, where are my wife and babies?” The thought of seeing Eliza after over a month of a lack of her smile and voice calmed something within me.

“The parlor, sir,” Anna said, grabbing my bags and coat.

“Thank you, Anna,” I responded, hurrying to the parlor, where, even from a little ways away, I could hear the children talking.

I opened the door and everyone’s gaze raised to me. “Papa!” Philip and Angelica chorused, running to me and launching themselves at my legs.

I grinned, ruffling Philip’s hair and picking Angelica up. She giggled, and Eliza was suddenly in front of me, wearing a blinding grin and holding baby Alex on her hip.

When I let Angelica down, I picked up baby Alex, who squeezed my cheek, causing me to laugh. 

Until that moment, I hadn’t even realized the extent of how much I had missed my family while I was away.

“It’s good to have you home,” Eliza said softly, cupping my cheek. She frowned. “You look thinner. Have you been eating properly?”

I rolled my eyes fondly, catching Eliza’s wrist and placing a gentle kiss to the soft skin. “I am an adult, Eliza. You needn’t worry about me.”

That night, I crawled into bed beside Eliza, who threw her arms around my waist immediately, resting her head on my chest.

“I missed you so much, Alexander,” she whispered, and I kissed the top of Eliza’s head, pulling her onto my lap.

“And I missed you.” I kissed her soft and slow, relishing the happy sigh that Eliza made. “I missed everything about you. Your voice, your smile, your lips…”

Eliza blushed, pressing our lips together again and moving even closer to me. “I know Philadelphia is only about ninety five miles away, but you felt so far…”

I ran my hands through Eliza beautiful brown hair, resting my hands on her hips. “I’m here now, my darling brunette.” I kissed her. “I’m here now.”

Unfortunately, I heard, only a few days after I’d arrived in New York, on July sixth, Robert Yates and John Lansing Junior, the two other delegates from New York, expressed disgust at the convention and left, not to return.

I also learned that rumors were running wild in New York over what exactly was happening in Philadelphia behind the closed windows of the State House.

In keeping with our promise, I didn’t say a word, not even to Eliza, though not for a lack of effort on her part.

However, one rumor in particular caught my eye. Written anonymously, the letter claimed that the Convention would bring the Duke of York, King George the Third’s second son, to rule over America.

Quickly, I found out who the rascal was that wrote the article, a man by the name of James Reynolds.

I didn’t give the name of the man much thought.

In July, I found myself calling out the absolute fool of a governor, George Clinton, in the papers. Perhaps I was spoiling for a fight.

Personally, I found my disagreement with him valid.

But, most importantly, I happened to talk to an old army veteran named Edward Antill, whose wife had died in seventeen eighty five. 

Having suffered a breakdown and down on his luck, he came to me with his two year old daughter Frances, nicknamed Fanny, with the request that I watch her, as he couldn’t.

I thought of how much easier my life would’ve been had a capable person taken me in sooner, and I instantly agreed.

I arrived home late that night, and Eliza hurried downstairs, wearing her nightdress with a candle in her hand, the moment I returned. “Alexander!” She scurried over to me, setting the candle down on the top of a nearby shelf. “Where have you been?”

I held out Fanny, peacefully sleeping, and Eliza gasped, taking her. “Oh, sweet little thing…” She smiled softly and Eliza looked up to meet my eyes. “Whose baby is she?” 

I sighed. “A soldier’s named Edward Antill. His wife died and he doesn’t have the means to go on. I… I offered to care for her.”

Before I could begin formatting an argument as to why she was best with us, Eliza nodded. “What is her name?”

“Frances, but she is called Fanny,” I answered.

Eliza cooed at Fanny, rocking her. “She’ll have to share with baby Alex for now.” I stood still as Eliza kissed my cheek. “You’re a good man, my sweet husband.”

I watched Eliza walk up the stairs with a small smile on my face.

I returned to Philadelphia on August thirteenth. And, after one more trip to New York to attend a Manumission Meeting, which I had been attending for some time— unfortunately shutting down the idea that they could petition Congress for emancipation, which was unlikely.

Upon my arrival, on September eighth, myself, William Johnson of Connecticut, Rufus King of Massachusetts, Madison, and Gouvernour Morris of Pennsylvania all joined the Committee of Style and Arrangement, which had the daunting task of arranging the articles of the Constitution and phrasing it.

From the eighth of September to the evening of the eleventh, we worked on the Constitution. Until, finally, on September seventeenth, seventeen eighty seven, the constitution was signed.

Despite me being the lone New York delegate, I still resolved to sign, voicing my eagerness for everyone else to sign as well.

Unfortunately, only nine out of the thirteen states signed, but I didn’t think about it. My main thought was my sighing, and, when I was finally handed a quill, my heart swelled with excitement and pride as I dipped it in the nearby ink pot.

I had helped to create this piece of history. And I would help to implement it, because there was still so much left to do to succeed in this new endeavor.

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

Excerpt of the New United States’ Constitution, signed 09/17/1787

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I’m sorry that it took a little longer to get out. And, again, thank you SO MUCH for all of the comments and kudos! I really appreciate it! Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. The Rutgers vs. Waddington case is a real thing, and it was SUPER controversial that Hamilton sided with a loyalist over a patriot, being a war hero and all. People seriously thought he had become a turn coat.  
> 2\. Most of the dialogue from the Annapolis Convention and the Constitutional Convention is straight from James Madison’s notes and other’s notes (in the case of the Annapolis Convention).  
> 3\. I don’t know exactly when the Hamiltons took in Frances Antill, other than that it was in 1787, so I just picked a random month.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you so much (again) for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September 1787-June 1791  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_ September 1787, En Route to York City, New York _

In September of seventeen eighty seven, I found myself riding up to Albany to pick up the children, meanwhile I outlined an idea I had for a series of essays written to defend the new Constitution.

Once I’d arrived to pick up the children and we were all back on the boat which was sailing down the Hudson River, I could barely contain my excitement.

“What has made you so happy?” Eliza asked, and I placed my hand over the small swell of her stomach, patting it.

“Eliza, I have a plan for how to ratify the constitution.” I moved closer to Eliza, showing her my hastily scribbled notes. “It will be a series of essays, of course published anonymously, defending the constitution. I’m thinking twenty five…”

Eliza hummed, intertwining our fingers. “That’s quite a lofty goal, and to do it alone!”

I shook my head. “Of course I wouldn’t do it alone.” I rolled my eyes. “No, I’d have to get a collaborator.”

I sighed, tapping my fingers against my knee. “But who?” Then, it came to me suddenly, even though the answer had been staring me right in the face.  _ Madison. _ “Madison.”

Eliza nodded. “You’ll have to write to him immediately upon our return home.” Before I could answer her, Eliza placed her other hand over mine. “But now? Interact with your wife and children.”

I blushed. “I’m sorry, my darling.” I kissed her temple, placing baby Alex on my knee.

“Pa!” he yelled, throwing his chubby, little arms around my neck.

From across the boat, Philip gasped. “Look! A fish!” 

Eliza said something in response and I kissed her temple, simply enjoying being the presence of my family.

“My beloved husband wrote the outline of his papers in  _ The Federalist _ on board of one of the North River sloops while on his way to Albany…”

Excerpt of Elizabeth Hamilton’s recollection of her late husband, Alexander Hamilton’s, planning of  _ The Federalist Papers _

Unfortunately, despite my planning of what would become  _ The Federalist _ going quite well, everything else was not.

In the papers, Governor George Clinton began authoring a series of essays under the pseudonym “Cato”, which said many things, but mainly insults directed at me.

They called me many things. One of them was “Tom Shit”; a reference to my Caribbean boyhood. Although I would never admit it aloud, it prodded at my insecurities, and I turned back to recruiting people for  _ The Federalist _ with newly invigorated passion.

I was more than just a bastard from the Caribbean, I always had been, and I was going to show them all.

After writing to Madison, I wrote to the former President of Congress, John Jay, who quickly accepted my offer with gratitude.

Then, I wrote to William Duer. He accepted as well, but, while his essay was insightful, I decided not to ask him to continue writing them.

I also asked my good friend Governor Morris, who was apparently too busy and consumed by other projects to accept mine.

As I’d said I would, I also wrote to Madison, who quickly accepted the project. 

And, on October seventeenth, seventeen eighty seven, the first issue of  _ The Federalist _ was published under the alias “Publius” in  _ The Independent Journal, _ that particular issue as written by me.

Using our areas of expertise, we each tackled a certain subject. Jay took on foreign affairs. Madison took on explaining the constitution, and I took on the three branches of government.

Despite our initial plan to write only twenty five essays, we soon surpassed it. Jay only wrote five, as he’d taken ill. Madison wrote twenty nine, and I wrote fifty one in total

It wasn’t until May twenty second, seventeen eighty eight— roughly a month after my third son, James, was born— did we finish, with me writing the final essay.

After that, there wasn’t much we could do but wait for the states to decide whether or not to ratify. We’d done all we could.

Despite that, I still worried.

However, I was distracted in June by a woman who came to visit us. My cousin, who I hadn’t seen in years, Ann Mitchell.

“Mr. Hamilton.” Anna knocked on my office door, and I looked up from my pacing. “There is a visitor here to see you. A Mrs. Mitchell.” 

I gasped. “Thank you, Anna.” I practically flew down the stairs. And, waiting in the parlor, stood my cousin, a little worse for wear but  _ there. _

“Alexander!” she cried, and I flew into her arms, holding her tightly to me. When we finally pulled away, Ann ran her hands over my face. “You’ve changed so much! You’re… what?”

“Thirty one,” I responded, right as Eliza entered the room, holding baby James, though we called him Jamie, in her arms.

“Hello,” Eliza greeted, and I stepped back, intertwining our arms.

“Eliza, this is my cousin, Ann Mitchell. Ann, this is my wife, Eliza.” I waved between them and Eliza’s face softened.

“Hello, Mrs. Mitchell. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Eliza said, leaning up to kiss Ann’s cheeks.

Ann nodded, clasping Eliza’s hand. “The same to you. And is this your son?” She cooed at Jamie, who simply let out a little cough.

“Yes,” I responded, somewhat defensive. “He’s named James.”

Ann gave me a curious look, but she didn’t press the topic, simply wagging her finger in Jamie’s face. “He’s quite cute.”

Eliza smiled, kissing Jamie’s nose. “Yes, he is. He’s actually our fifth. We have four others, two boys and two girls.”

Ann laughed. “Four little Alexander Hamiltons?” She shook her head. “The world is not prepared.”

I scoffed in mock offense, but my smile remained on my face. Despite the fact that Ann was living proof of my traumatic childhood, I couldn’t find it in me to dislike her.

After all, she had been one of the driving forces behind my liberation from St. Croix. I owed everything to her.

“Well, I must say, we are so glad to have you here,” I said, wrapping my arms around Ann again.

For the next few weeks, I waited with bated breath for the constitution’s ratification. Although Eliza, Ann, and the children had retreated to Albany, I imagined they were feeling the same.

Finally, on June twenty sixth, New Hampshire became the ninth state to ratify, solidifying the majority’s vote in favor of our new government.

Even then, it wasn’t over. Without New York and Virginia, the biggest and most needed states, there would be no ratification.

But, finally, on June twenty fifth, Virginia ratified the Constitution, New York following suit on July twenty sixth.

When Eliza, Ann, and the children returned to York City in August, there was much celebration. Unfortunately, Ann left some time later.

To keep myself busy, starting on November third, I began serving in the Congress of the Confederation in York City.

I ended my servitude on March fourth, seventeen eighty nine, two days before— after being unanimously voted in— Washington would be sworn in as the President of our new country.

On April twenty third, Washington arrived in York City, taking lodgings at number three Cherry Street.

Six days later, on April thirtieth, seventeen eighty nine, Washington was sworn in as the first President of the United States of America.

People had been crowding the streets since before dawn, and, at twelve thirty in the afternoon, Eliza, the children, and I walked up to our balcony, where we would have a decent view of Federal Hall, where Washington would be inaugurated.

“What’s happening?” Fanny asked, tugging on my hand. 

I smiled, tucking a curl out of her face. “Well, today George Washington is being made the first President of our country,” I said, picking her up so she could see.

On his horse, dressed in a brown suit made in America with white silk stockings and his steel hilted sword, Washington showed an imposing figure.

“Look, Mama! Look, Papa” Philip exclaimed, pointing at Washington, who was passing by.

Eliza nodded, holding baby Jamie on her hip. “It is him, Philip. Say hello.”

Philip and all of the children cried out a series of yells and hellos, and when Washington looked up, our eyes locked.

The children waved, and Fanny blew him a wet kiss, and I nodded at Washington, offering him a tight lipped smile.

“He looked at us!” Anne yelled, jumping up and down excitedly.

Eliza nodded. “Yes, he did, baby.” She kissed the top of Anne’s head and stepped towards me, pressing our shoulders together.

“Isn’t this exciting?” I mumbled, setting Fanny down at her request. “I helped this occur.” I wondered what fourteen year old me would’ve made of this, of me being a founder of this new country.

“You did,” Eliza whispered, leaning up to kiss my temple. “It couldn’t have been done without you, my accomplished husband.”

I shook my head mirthfully, squeezing Eliza’s soft hand and rubbing circles into her palm.

After being introduced to the House of Representatives and the Senate, Washington, vice President, John Adams, and others moved to the second story balcony.

The Chancellor of New York Robert Livingston, who had helped to draft the Declaration of Independence, administered the ceremony.

Although we couldn’t hear what was being said from so far away, we could see the men’s lips moving, a bible held out with Washington’s right hand over the book.

Finally, Livingston cried out something loud enough that the people in the street repeated it joyously. “Long live George Washington, President of the United States!”

We repeated the phrase ourselves, and people in the street cried and cheered. Beside me, I could see a few tears had trickled down Eliza’s cheeks.

“Mama, why are you crying?” Anne asked, frowning widely and clutching Eliza’s skirts. “Are you sad?”

Eliza shook her head, leaning down to cup Anne’s cheek with her free hand. “They are tears of joy, my sweet daughter. You needn’t fret.”

Anne nodded cautiously, but she continued to glance nervously in Eliza’s direction. Eliza sniffed and I raised her hand to my lips. 

“My Betsey, even if they are tears of joy, don’t cry.” I wiped her cheeks. “You’re too beautiful to cry.”

Eliza nodded, pressing her lips to mine. “I know, my love. It’s only that… well… I would’ve never imagined this even ten years ago.”

I nodded. “I know.” For I did. But the past was the past, and we were here now, in the present, making history.

“Having thus imparted to you my sentiments, as they have been awakened by the occasion which brings us together, I shall take my present leave; but not without resorting once more to the benign parent of the human race, in humble supplication that since he has been pleased to favour the American people, with opportunities for deliberating in perfect tranquility, and dispositions for deciding with unparellelled unanimity on a form of Government, for the security of their Union, and the advancement of their happiness; so his divine blessing may be equally conspicuous in the enlarged views, the temperate consultations, and the wise measures on which the success of this Government must depend.”

Excerpt of George Washington’s Inaugural Address, 04/30/1789

In early May of seventeen eighty nine, Angelica returned to America, alone, arriving in York City via carriage.

“Angelica!” Eliza yelled, throwing her arms around Angelica upon her entrance into our house.

“Eliza!” Angelica cried, cupping Eliza’s cheek. “Goodness, Betsey, you look radiant.” She turned to me, embracing me as well. “You look well, too, Alexander.”

I nodded, allowing myself eyes to rake over Angelica’s figure. “You look very nice, Angelica.”

Angelica rolled her eyes, waving her hand flippantly, closing her fan and slapping it against her hip. “So, where are my nieces and nephews?”

Eliza brought the children down, who immediately flocked to Angelica, even Fanny, usually very shy. 

“I come bearing gifts as well,” Angelica exclaimed, holding out a blue velvet bag. “Children, take your pick of toys and candies.”

Angelica dug around in another bag, revealing a fine bottle of red wine, handing it to Eliza. “Here. My gift to you.”

I shook my head as Eliza examined the bottle. “Your presence in and of itself is a gift we cherish,” I said.

Eliza nodded vigorously, leaning over to brush her lips against Angelica’s cheek. “Thank you, Angelica. Now, you’ll stay for dinner before you return to your townhouse?”

Angelica nodded. “Why of course! There is so much I must’ve missed with you two.” She looked between us, her eyes drifting for a moment. “I’ve missed you both.”

“And we’ve missed you,” Eliza responded, squeezing Angelica’s hand. “Now, I’ll go have Anna make tea. Children, please go upstairs.”

The children obeyed, and Angelica and I watched as Eliza left the room. “It’s good to be back on American soil,” Angelica finally said, looking at me.

“Really. I… I’m very bored in Europe. Of course, I do have friends and acquaintances, but I’ve missed my family, and I’ve yet to meet anyone who matches you for turn of phrase.”

I laughed silently, sitting down on the settee, Angelica following suit. “Eliza has missed you, as have I…”

I wasn’t sure why I trailed off, and Angelica looked at me curiously. “Oh, have you now?” She smirked, batting her eyelashes, ever the coquette.

“Very,” I answered, reminding myself that this was all just a game; a game of wits. Angelica was beautiful, I could admit that, but she was Eliza’s sister.

It was all just a game.

Eliza entered the room and Angelica moved a little ways away from me, allowing Eliza to sit between us. 

I took Eliza’s hand, and she squeezed my hand. “So, Angelica, tell me of your friends.”

Angelica spoke of a Maria Cosway, an artist,  _ the _ Thomas Jefferson, and others. All the while, Eliza and I nodded, pouring cups of tea when Anna returned.

“Well, you sound as if you’ve had fun,” Eliza answered, leaning over to take Angelica’s hand. “Even so, you must visit us more often! I don’t see you, enough.”

Angelica’s face softened as it always did around Eliza, and she patted Eliza’s hand. “I wish I could, Eliza, but I am happy in London.” 

I quirked an eyebrow from behind Eliza. Whether Angelica decided to ignore it or genuinely didn’t see was debatable.

Later that night, at Eliza’s fervent request, I rode to Angelica’s home in a carriage with her, as Eliza had worried over Angelica’s safety.

So, to soothe my wife, I agreed to take Angelica home. And there we sat.

“You didn’t tell Eliza of your boredom in Europe,” I commented. “Why?”

Angelica sighed, running her fingers over the fine silk of her dusty pink dress, her expression contemplative. “It is only my first day here. I want to enjoy the happiness while it lasts. Then I’ll tell Betsey. I don’t want to burden her.”

I hummed, looking out at the dark, empty street. “You worry too much about Eliza, I say. But your dedication to her is admirable.”

A small smile formed on Angelica’s face and she leaned over to clasp my hand. “Thank you.” She retracted her hand, and my own hand tingled.

The carriage jolted to a stop and I stepped out of the coach to take her inside. I took her arm and Angelica opened the door to her townhouse, breathing in deeply.

“Thank you for taking me home.” Angelica looked up at me, her face almost completely obscured in darkness.

I shook my head. “Of course.” We stood there for a long moment, neither of us moving, and I leaned in to kiss Angelica’s cheek.

When I stepped away, Angelica grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. After I bid Angelica farewell, I retreated to the carriage.

When I crawled into bed beside Eliza, I wrapped my arms around her tightly, holding her to me and kissing her softly.

On May seventh, seventeen eighty nine Washington’s inaugural ball took place. 

I stood in mine and Eliza’s bedroom, tying my cravat when Eliza walked into the room, wearing a gorgeous blue dress.

I smiled and Eliza hurried over to me, grabbing my cravat and beginning to tie it herself. In thanks, I ran my fingers over the inside of Eliza’s wrist.

“Betsey, you look beautiful. Nay, you look radiant.” When Eliza finally finished tying my cravat, I pulled her to me, kissing her gently.

Eliza gasped when our lips met, but she threw her arms around my waist, pressing against me. When we finally pulled apart, Eliza rolled her eyes when I pulled at her waist so that she was tucked against my chest.

“Alexander, you are a ridiculous man.” But she cupped my cheek nonetheless, brushing her lips against mine. “Well, let’s go downstairs.”

I hummed, tracing my fingers over Eliza’s collarbone. “But there are so many more fun things we could do,” I said.

Eliza, even after almost ten years of marriage, flushed, lightly swatting me. “Let us go downstairs.”

I sighed and followed Eliza down the stairs, where Angelica was already standing in the parlor, looking resplendent in a yellow dress.

“Oh, Betsey,” Angelica gasped, grabbing Eliza’s hands. “You look beautiful.” Angelica turned to me, nodding. “You look very handsome, Alexander.”

I bowed, kissing her hand. “And you look amazing, dear sister.”

Both Eliza and Angelica tittered and I grabbed Eliza’s hand, intertwining our fingers. “Now, is the coach ready?” Eliza asked.

Anna, who had just entered the room, nodded. “Yes, Miss. The coach is outside and waiting for you.” 

Eliza nodded. “Thank you, Anna.” She clapped her hands together. “Well, let us go!”

We climbed into the coach, and off we went. Of course, it wasn’t a far walk to the ball, but I had come to learn that the decadently wealthy liked to laud their wealth around in extravagant displays, hence the coach and our expensive clothes.

“Isn’t this just thrilling?” Eliza mumbled into my ear, and I nodded. It truly was. 

When the coach pulled to a harsh stop and we entered the hall, immediately two fans were pressed into Eliza and Angelica’s hand, each one with Washington’s face imprinted on it.

Eliza let out a sharp laugh, opening the fan and fanning herself with it. “Isn’t that nice.” She quickly closed it and took my arm.

As we walked into the ballroom, I was accosted on all sides by people smiling, waving, and shaking my hand.

Thankfully, I stood by the side of the wall for most of the night, drinking wine and watching as Angelica danced and Eliza flitted around, smiling, laughing, and having fun.

People began to clap and Washington, who had been dancing, approached me and Eliza, who had recently returned to my side.

“Your Excellency,” I said, and Eliza curtsied.

Washington gave his typical false imitation of a smile, holding his hand out to Eliza. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Hamilton?”

Eliza’s eyes widened and she nodded, clasping Washington’s hand. I watched as Washington led her to the floor, Eliza almost comically shorter than him, and I nearly laughed.

Angelica was then at my side. “Look at our dear little Betsey go,” she said, her eyes mirthful. Then, she turned to me. “Since your wife is indisposed, would you like to dance with me?”

I stilled, shaking my head. Although the offer was tempting, I physically couldn’t dance with her. I shook my head. “I assure you, I only wish to observe tonight.”

Angelica sighed, rolling her eyes. “Suit yourself, I suppose.” As she turned to walk away, she suddenly stopped, turning to look at me. “I’d still like to dance with you.”

I waved her away, watching as Eliza and Washington elegantly swirled, turned, and twirled on the floor, everyone watching closely.

When the dance ended, Eliza hurried back to me, smiling brightly. “Isn’t that exciting!” she exclaimed, and I kissed her hand, feeling a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry I cannot dance with you, my darling,” I mumbled, all of the unsaid words as to why I couldn’t passing between Eliza and I.

Eliza’s face grew sympathetic, and I wanted to scream. Before I could become sufficiently upset, Eliza squeezed my hand.

“It is not your fault. Besides, I’ve never much liked dancing.” Eliza shrugged. And, although I was almost certain that was a lie, I was content to simply allow myself to believe it.

Later that night, after we’d left and dropped Angelica off at her home, Eliza cupped my cheek, her dark eyes boring into mine.

“Alexander, I still love you, regardless of the fact you have a… less than ideal past.” She kissed my cheek. “I love you.”

I caught Eliza’s hand, brushing my lips over her palm. “And I love you.”

On September second, after surviving a bout of illness over the summer that likely should have killed him, Washington signed a bill creating the Treasury Department.

Soon after, we all waited to see who he would pick. Eliza was adamant that it would be me, and Angelica seemed to support me as well, but I still pondered over it.

An unfortunate problem was that Robert Livingston was also in the running for Secretary of the Treasury, and I when had supported Rufus King for Senator, I’d seemingly made an enemy out of Livingston.

Despite my annoyance regarding him, I decided to simply ignore it, waiting for a nomination or anything.

Then, finally, on September eleventh, seventeen eighty nine, Washington nominated me for the position as Treasury Secretary.

It was approved by the Senate that same day, and I was officially the first Treasury Secretary in American History.

Despite the salary being only a meager three thousand five hundred dollars a month— much less than I was making as a lawyer—I still took the job.

Because, as I told friends, this was where I could do the most good. This was what I had been waiting for, what I’d been working towards: a chance to have a real impact, to make a real difference.

So, I accepted the nomination, and two days later, I found myself at the Treasury building on Broadway, working all day.

There was pressure on me to succeed, and I could not afford to let anyone down.

“Know Ye, that reposing special Trust and Confidence in the Patriotism, Integrity, and Abilities of Alexander Hamilton of the City of New York in the State of New York, Esquire, I have nominated, and by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, do appoint him Secretary of the Treasury of the said United States, and do authorize and empower him to execute and fulfil the Duties of that Office according to Law; and to have and to hold the said Office, with all the Powers, Privileges, and Emoluments to the same of Right appertaining, during the Pleasure of the President of the United States for the Time being.”

Excerpt of Alexander Hamilton’s Appointment as Treasury Secretary, written by George Washington, 09/11/1789

In November of seventeen eighty nine, while I was outlining my plan on how to fix America’s credit, Angelica received a letter from Church, telling her one of their children had taken ill.

Immediately, Angelica prepared to leave America. I offered to escort her to the Battery, where her boat sat.

“Watch over Eliza, please,” Angelica said, just as I’d expected her to, her voice quiet and her eyes slightly red. “That’s all I ask.”

I nodded. “Of course, Angelica.” I stepped towards her and wiped her eyes. “Please, don’t cry, sister.”

Angelica nodded resolutely, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and laughing joylessly. “I’m dreadfully sorry. Look at me, making a fool of myself.” Angelica breathed in deeply, once again composed.

“Do return to us,” I instructed, leaning over to brush my lips against Angelica’s cheek. “That is all  _ we _ ask.”

Angelica smiled and squeezed my wrist. “Of course. Now, goodbye, dear brother.” 

I watched as Angelica boarded her boat,  _ The Packet, _ and I quickly headed home to console and soothe Eliza.

When I’d returned, I found Eliza sitting in the parlor, the Baron Von Steuben rubbing her back comfortingly. “Oh, Betsey,” I gasped, enveloping her in my arms.

“She’s so far away,” Eliza sobbed into my chest, and I ran my fingers through her hair. “What if this is what it will always be? What if, from now on, I’ll only see her in spurts?”

I shook my head, kissing Eliza’s forehead and tilting her chin up so that we made eye contact. “It won’t be, my dear. Angelica promised to return. She will.”

Eliza sniffled, nodding her head. “Will you go down to the Battery and watch her ship depart?” she asked. “I only wish to know that her voyage is going well.”

I nodded. “Of course.” I turned to Steuben. “Baron, will you come with?” Steuben nodded and, after Philip’s request to walk with us, we left.

Once we reached the Battery, the Baron and I watched Angelica’s ship depart, waving goodbye with tears in our eyes.

Despite my words to Eliza, I couldn’t help but silently wonder if Angelica  _ would _ return to America, to her family and friends.

“My Very Dear beloved Angelica—I have seated my self to write to you, but my heart is so sadned by your Absence that it can scarsly dictate, my Eyes so filled with tears that I shall not be able to write you much but  _ Remember Remember _ , my Dear sister of the Assurences of your returning to us, and do all you can to make your Absence short.”

Excerpt of a letter from Elizabeth Hamilton to Angelica Church, 11/08/1789

On January ninth, seventeen ninety, I published  _ Report Relative to a Provision for the Support of Public Credit, _ outlining my plan to fix America’s credit and pay off our debts.

My plan was to assume all of the state’s debts, which totaled to about twenty five million dollars in total.

I had counted on Madison— now a member of the House of Representatives— to support my plan. In the end, I did not obtain Madison’s support.

No, I got his disagreement.

The House began to debate my plan on the second of February, and on the eleventh and the eighteenth, Madison spoke to the House, offering an alternative to my plan.

My anger was potent, and I ranted and raved to Eliza. Madison had been my friend, and now he was opposing me?

What did Madison know about fiscal policy, anyway?

On February twenty second, Madison’s alternative plan was voted down because the Government did not have enough money to make it work.

I was shocked at Madison’s open contentment of assumption, but I tried to ignore it, as a much more interesting man sailed into America in March: Thomas Jefferson, who had returned home to take up the position as Secretary of State.

Jefferson arrived in York City on March twenty first, taking up housing on Maiden Lane, near the capitol building.

My first impression of Jefferson was awe. This was the man who’d written the Declaration of Independence; it was  _ the _ Thomas Jefferson, and I would be working beside him.

My second impression was that Jefferson was almost disappointing. He was quiet, I had to strain my voice to hear him, and he seemed content to allow everyone else to speak.

With hesitation, I approached Jefferson, clearing my throat. “Mr. Jefferson? Alexander Hamilton, at your service, sir.”

Jefferson took my outstretched hand, his grasp much firmer than I would’ve initially expected at first glance. 

“Mr. Hamilton, I’ve heard quite a lot about you.” Jefferson laughed awkwardly at the end, and I raised an eyebrow.

“I hope all good things?” I asked, and Jefferson nodded. Then, before I knew what I was doing, I was inviting Jefferson to dinner.

Jefferson looked somewhat surprised, but he nodded. “I’d be honored.”

I smiled, nodding my head. “I will inform you of when.” I waved and turned away, thankful that it seemed that I might have made an ally.

I didn’t know how blatantly wrong I was.

“The interesting problem now occurs. Is it in the power of the United States, consistently with those prudential considerations, which ought not to be overlooked, to make a provision equal to the purpose of funding the whole debt, at the rates of interest which it now bears, in addition to the sum which will be necessary for the current service of the government? The Secretary will not say that such provision would exceed the abilities of the country; but he is clearly of opinion, that to make it, would require the extension of taxation to a degree, and to objects, which the true interest of the public creditors forbids.”

Excerpt of Alexander Hamilton’s Report Relative to a Provision for the Support of Public Credit, 01/09/1790

In early April, Eliza and I formally invited Jefferson to dinner, and he graciously accepted. “I’ve read up on what he’d done in France,” I said.

Eliza looked up at me. “Oh, did you? What did he do?”

“He helped draft the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen, the French Declaration of Independence, essentially.” I huffed. “Folly, if you ask me.”

Eliza raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

I nodded. “Things are going to go downhill with France soon, Betsey. I’d place money on it.”

Eliza hummed and Anna entered the parlor, Jefferson standing behind her, visibly uncomfortable.

Once Anna has left, Eliza stepped forward, smiling affably up at Jefferson. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I heard you’d made the acquaintance of my sister?”

A smile creeped onto Jefferson’s face, and he nodded. “Yes, I have. You’re as lovely as her.”

Eliza smiled softly and we all sat down at the table, sipping wine and making plates. Finally, Jefferson spoke. “So, Mr. Hamilton, I’ve read  _ The Federalist. _ I must say, it is perhaps the best political commentary I’ve ever read.”

I smirked proudly, taking a sip of my wine. “Thank you, Mr. Jefferson. I myself have actually read of your work in France. It’s interesting.”

Jefferson looked at me curiously. “Oh, how so?”

I shrugged, cutting up my chicken. “Only the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen.” Jefferson smiled proudly and I continued. “I think it’s interesting, I only ask why?”

Jefferson shrugged. “France helped us in our revolution. Isn’t it only fair that we help them in theirs?”

I frowned, but before I could respond, Eliza cleared her throat. “So, Mr. Jefferson, how is France? I’ve heard good things.”

Jefferson smiled widely. “Oh, it’s grand. The food is exquisite, the people are nice as well, and the architecture?” He sighed happily. “Not to mention slavery is abolished there…”

My eyes narrowed.  _ Didn’t Jefferson own slaves? _ Eliza seemingly noticed my expression, and she entered the conversation again.

“That sounds great. Perhaps we’ll visit one day.” Eliza turned to address me. “Doesn’t that sound nice, Alexander?”

I nodded my head. “It does. Maybe one day.”

When Jefferson left later that night, I decided that I wasn’t quite sure what exactly to make of Thomas Jefferson.

On April twelfth, the House of Representatives voted down my assumption plan. 

I spent the next months lobbying politicians, senators, and others to get my plan revived, until, in June, I found myself at Washington’s door.

I wasn’t quite sure why.

I sighed loudly, pacing back and forth outside of Washington’s. Maybe my critics were right. Maybe this job just wasn’t for me?

If my plan wasn’t voted in, then what? I’d have to resign.

I ran my hands through my hair, shame rising deep inside of me, when I heard footsteps, and I looked up to see Thomas Jefferson looking down at me curiously.

I groaned softly. The civility between Jefferson and I had become a thing of the past. It had come to my attention that not only were Jefferson’s political views utterly atrocious, but he was much too idealistic of a man.

_ What could he possibly want? _ I wondered, standing up and brushing the dust off of my pants. “Mr. Jefferson, how can I help you?”

Jefferson raised an eyebrow. “It seems to me that I should be asking  _ you _ that.” 

I glared at my feet. “I came to talk to Washington about my assumption plan,” I mumbled, my eyes flitting around the room. “If my assumption plan isn’t passed…”

Jefferson made a face. “You’ll…” He trailed off, waving his hand, a silent gesture for me to finish. And, despite his silence, his very gesture came across as condescending, and I had to forcibly remind myself that I couldn’t punch him.

It didn’t matter how much I would’ve liked to.

“It’s all awful!” I snapped, throwing my hands in the air. “The legislature is wrought, and those damned creditor states.” I scoffed, wringing my hands together.

“I know this is not your department, nor the rest of the administrations, but they should care! This is a common duty— a common concern!”

I continued to pace, already forgetting that Jefferson was there. They must have been  _ something _ that I could do… something…

Then it came to me, hitting me like a slap to the face.  _ Jefferson. _

I swirled around, and luckily Jefferson was still standing there, looking a mixture of confused and joyful, as if he was enjoying my incoherent ramblings.

“The quest was lost by a small majority only, so, it’s probable that an appeal from you to the judgement and discretion of some of your friends might affect a change in the vote,” I said.

Jefferson looked at me deeply, his head tilted to the side, his brown eyes boring into mine. Finally, he shrugged, and my heart dropped.

“I’m really a stranger to the whole subject of assumption. But…” I perked up, and Jefferson snapped his fingers. “Perhaps a dinner?”

I furrowed my eyebrows together. “How will a dinner solve my problems?” And to think I had thought that Jefferson could help… 

Before I could walk away, Jefferson held out a hand. “I mean to invite you to dinner tomorrow with Madison and I to discuss this issue. Maybe we could work something out?”

I froze, slowly turning on my heel to observe Jefferson. Logically, I knew that I couldn’t trust him and that this could very well be a trap.

But, on the other hand, Jefferson was my last hope of getting my assumption plan passed. What did I have to lose exactly?

So, I nodded, shaking Jefferson’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day— June twentieth, seventeen ninety— I stood in front of the mirror in mine and Eliza’s room, buttoning my coat, when Eliza entered the room.

“Alexander, why are dressed up?” Eliza asked, approaching me and grabbing my cravat before I could. “Where are you off to?”

I smiled, placing my hand on the small of Eliza’s back as she wrapped my cravat around my neck, her slender fingers brushing my chin.

“My dear, I think I might have just solved our little assumption problem.” 

Eliza perked up, looking up at me in confusion. “Have you now? Well, do tell.”

I shook my head, kissing Eliza’s knuckles. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you yet, my sweet Betsey. But, if Madison and Jefferson do what I think they will, I have a plan.”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Madison and Jefferson? Why are you meeting with them?”

I caressed Eliza’s cheek, beginning to walk downstairs, Eliza’s footsteps indicating that she was behind me. “All in good time.”

I donned my coat, pressing my lips against Eliza’s. “I’ll be home in a few hours.” With a final wave, I jumped into my carriage, which quickly set off for Maiden Lane.

When I arrived at Jefferson’s home, Madison was already there, as a servant led me into the parlor where the two men in question were drinking.

“Secretary Hamilton, I’m glad you could make it tonight,” Jefferson said, smiling falsely at me.

I nodded. “I wouldn’t have missed it.” I hesitantly turned to Madison, our eyes briefly locking. “Madison.”

Seemingly sensing the palpable tension between us, Jefferson clapped his hands together. “Come, come. Let us begin the meal.”

I followed the men into the dining room, where a large plate of macaroni and cheese, as per the French recipe, sat.

I sat down across from Madison and beside Jefferson, pouring myself a glass of wine and taking a large sip.

“So, I’d take a gander and say we all know why we’re here?” I said, setting my glass down with a ‘clink’. “We shouldn’t dawdle.”

Jefferson and Madison exchanged looks, then they nodded. “Hamilton is correct,” Jefferson said, taking a final bite of food before sliding his dish away.

I cleared my throat.“So, we all know why I’m here. I’ve said it once before, and I shall say it again: the issue of assumption concerns the whole nation. It is the most viable option.”

Madison hummed, lacing his fingers together. 

Jefferson responded to my statement first. “Despite my contestment of assumption, I know that us being caught in a stalemate over the issue could tear this union apart, which, as Secretary of State, makes it my issue.”

I preened under the, however hesitant, agreement, and Madison finally spoke. “I agree, I suppose. I propose that it be brought before the House by way of amendment through the Senate.”

I opened the mouth to ask a question, but Madison simply continued to speak. “I won’t vote for it, nor will I take back my words spoken against it, but I will no longer openly oppose it.”

I took a sip of wine, a small smile creeping onto my face. “Thank you.”

But, of course, there was no reason for them to simply give me what I wanted without wanting something in return, and Madison continued to speak.

“Of course, as the pill would be a bitter one to the Southern states, something should be done to soothe them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Whatever do you have in mind?”

Madison kept speaking. “The removal of the seat of government to the Potomac is a just measure, and would probably be a popular one with them, and would be a proper one to follow the assumption.”

I hummed. Of all of the things I had expected them to do, that was not one of them. I knew that the residents of York City would be furious, and I would be throwing away the chance for York City to become the next London or Paris.

But, on the other hand, the capital city was a small— one could say minuscule— price to pay for fixing America’s credit.

In that moment, I made my decision.

“I’d say we have a deal.” Madison and Jefferson exchanged looks, opening their mouths to speak, but I wasn’t yet done. “I will do all in my power to help this succeed. But, first, I feel the need to remind you that there is not a yet a city on the Potomac.”

Madison nodded. “I’ve thought of that. For the next ten years, I propose Philadelphia to be the temporary capital.”

“That’s fine. So, I will do all in my power to have the capital moved, and neither of you will openly oppose my assumption plan. Do we have a deal, gentleman?”

“We have a deal.”

I grinned, and Madison, Jefferson, I raised our glasses.

On July tenth, seventeen ninety, the Resident Act— the act which would move the capital— was passed. 

As I’d anticipated, the people of York City were furious. “Alexander!” Came Eliza’s voice from the hall, and she was suddenly in my office. “That was how you obtained your funding bill? You gave away the capitol?”

I nodded, standing up and taking Eliza’s hand. “Yes, my love.” Eliza looked aghast and I rolled my eyes. “Betsey, the capitol doesn’t really mean anything! They got a piece of land, for God’s sake.”

Eliza’s eyes widened in recognition. “You got more than you gave.” I shrugged sheepishly and Eliza laughed. “You brilliant man, you.”

On July twenty sixth, the House of Representatives narrowly passed my Assumption Bill.

It turned out to be a good summer for me, as Congress adopted my plan for naval protection, then surmised of just ten cutters on August fourth.

And, eight days after Congress held its farewell session in Federal Hall on August twelfth, Eliza and I left York City for Philadelphia, where we took up a house on Walnut Street.

Despite having succeeded in my assumption plan, I still had more to do, as that was only phase one of my plan. 

Now, I set my gaze on establishing a national bank.

On December fourteenth, seventeen ninety, the day after I proposed a tax on whiskey, I proposed a charter for the National Bank. The bill was passed by the Senate on January twentieth, seventeen ninety one.

On February eighth, the House passed the Bank Bill. And, with that, all that was left to do was to write the proposition for Washington, who would, hopefully, sign it into a law.

Unfortunately— because why would it be otherwise— Jefferson did not support the bank, and I knew that he would undoubtedly go to Washington and try to convince him not to sign it into a law.

So, that night, as Eliza braided her hair, I entered our bedroom, my portable writing desk tucked under my arm.

Eliza turned around so she could face me directly. “Whatever are you doing?”

I set down the desk, my ink pot, and the pieces of parchment, turning to fully address Eliza. “We must have a bank. So, that is what I will do. Tomorrow I must have the proposition ready for Washington.”

I climbed into bed and Eliza hummed, crawling into bed beside me. Once the covers had been pulled up, Eliza snatched the quill out of my hand.

“Go on, then. Let me write it for you,” Eliza said, setting the portable desk down on her lap and dipping the quill into the ink pot.

I leaned forward to kiss Eliza’s soft cheek. I certainly didn’t deserve her. Before I could become maudlin, I cleared my throat.

“Eliza, we desperately need a bank. It is the best way to stabilize and improve our credit. Assumption was only the first step.”

I jumped up out of bed and I began to pace. “With a bank, we will be able to pay off debts for the war, raise money for the new government—” I threw my hands into the air. “How can Jefferson oppose a bank?”

Eliza laughed. “Maybe it is because you, not him, that is in charge of finances? It’s not exactly his area of expertise.”

I nodded concedingly, and Eliza patted the spot on the bed beside her. “Now, come. Let us write a proposal so well written it will stun Washington and the nation.”

I shook my head fondly, climbing into bed beside Eliza as she began to write.

Neither Eliza nor myself slept a minute the night of February twenty second, seventeen ninety one. The next day, I delivered the letter to Washington, who signed it into a law on the twenty fifth.

“Here then as far as concerns the reasonings of the Secretary of State & the Attorney General, the affirmative of the constitutionality of the bill might be permitted to rest. It will occur to the President that the principle here advanced has been untouched by either of them. For a more complete elucidation of the point nevertheless, the arguments which they have used against the power of the government to erect corporations, however foreign they are to the great & fundamental rule which has been stated, shall be particularly examined.”

Excerpt of an Opinion on the Constitutionality of an Act to Establish a Bank, 02/23/1791

On March third, seventeen ninety one, Aaron Burr won Philip Schuyler’s seat in the Senate, which angered me to no end.

I had always known that Burr was not to be trusted. 

A few months later, in June, I was reading in the parlor, Eliza and baby Jamie beside me, when Anna entered the room, informing me that there was a woman who wished to speak with me privately.

After excusing myself, I entered my office, where a young woman— who  _ couldn’t _ have been older than twenty five— stood, her long blonde hair flowing down her back.

I cleared my throat and the women turned around to face me, her bright blue eyes immediately going to me. “Mr. Hamilton, I presume?”

I nodded. “Yes. Now, you know who I am, but I have no idea who you are.” I pointed out, stepping towards the young woman. “Who are you?”

The woman averted her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and it stirred something deep within me. “Mrs. Maria Reynolds, sir.” Her face dropped. “Although, I suppose it’s Lewis now…”

“Mrs. Reynolds, are you alright?” I asked, as Mrs. Reynolds’ face contorted. “Why have you come to ask for my assistance?”

Mrs. Reynolds nodded. “Right. I know you are a man of honor, sir, and I’ve come to ask for your help.” She breathed in deeply, and my eyes dropped to her raised bosom. With an air of shame, I raised my gaze.

“I’m the daughter of a Mr. Richard Lewis, and my sister, Susannah, is married to Gilbert James Livingston.” Mrs. Reynolds fidgeted with the little silver band on her finger as she spoke. “My husband, James, was in the commissary during the war…” Mrs. Reynolds let out a sob, and I was overcome with a rush of pity for her.

“He has been… cruel towards me, for quite a length of time now.” My breath hitched in my throat, and I thought of my mother, whose first husband had also treated her cruelly…

“Recently, he’s left me…” I handed Mrs. Reynolds a handkerchief, watching as she wiped her cheeks, wet with tears, “to live with another woman. I… I have relatives in New York, but I don’t have the means to go on.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide, sparkling with unshed tears, and doe like in a way.

“You’re situation is an interesting one, Mrs. Reynolds. And, I must say, I’m glad that you came to me. I am busy right at this particular moment—” I thought of Eliza, sewing downstairs— “but if you would send me your address, I could bring money to you later?”

Mrs. Reynolds let out a sob, a soft smile adorning her face. “Thank you, sir! Here, I can write my address down, of course.” I handed her a piece of parchment and a quill, then I pocketed the address once it was written down.

“I can come by in the evening, if that’s convenient for you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, causing Mrs. Reynolds to vigorously nod.

“Anytime that is convenient for you, sir! Truly, I think you.” With a final wave in my direction, Mrs. Reynolds started towards the door, her hips swaying.

Then, she abruptly stopped, turning around to face me. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” She pressed my handkerchief back into my hand. “Thank you, again, sir.”

I watched her go guiltily, but, even so, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her swaying hips… I shook my head, collapsing onto my desk chair.

I didn’t understand. Why would any man hurt such a beautiful, young, and sweet woman? How black of a heart must one have to inflict any harm on such a harmless— one could say helpless—young woman?

I breathed in deeply, catching the scent of roses and sweat, likely from the handkerchief, and I moved it away from me, tossing it into the bottom drawer of my desk.

When I walked downstairs a few minutes later, Eliza asked who the woman was, and I told her that she was a distressed lady who requested my help. With a soft smile, Eliza congratulated me for doing so.

For whatever reason, I didn’t tell Eliza that I had agreed to go to Mrs. Reynolds’ house that evening and drop off money. 

I wasn’t exactly sure why.

That evening, I found myself at Mrs. Reynolds’ lodgings— certainly not the safest place for a young woman to be, especially all on her own— where I was shown upstairs.

I gently rapped on the door, and Mrs. Reynolds opened the door, her smile soft, and she allowed me in.

I handed her the money, which she pressed against her chest, her eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered, placing the money onto the table beside her.

I waved my hand dismissively. “It was my pleasure. Now, I should be getting home.” I gestured to the door.

But, before I had even taken a step, Mrs, Reynolds grabbed my hand. “Wait!” She stepped towards me. “Whatever can I do to repay you for your kindness?”

I shook my head.  _ That poor woman, _ I thought. “Nonsense. It was my pleasure, truly. Now, I really should be going…”

Yet, despite my words, Mrs. Reynolds still remained clutching my hand, and my eyes were inexplicably drawn to her lips, pink and plump.

“Please, sir, let me repay you for your kindness.” She took another step towards me so that our chests were touching.

“Mrs. Reynolds…” My voice was weak, and I could feel Mrs. Reynolds place her hands on my hips.

“Hush. Please, allow me to repay you for your kindness.”

And, when she pressed her lips against mine, I didn’t say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Also, happy 238th Death Day John Laurens! Anyways, the next chapter should be up in a few days. Also, I know that I always say this, but thank you SO MUCH for all of the comments and kudos! I really appreciate it, and it’s a great motivation to write! Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. Hamilton did ask others to collaborate on The Federalist.  
> 2\. Washington’s inauguration and the ball are all historically accurate as possible. And, yes, there were fans with Washington’s face, and Eliza did actually dance with Washington.  
> 3\. The second half of the Dinner Table Bargain’s dialogue and most of the dialogue from the Hamilton and Jefferson chat is all verbatim from a letter written by Jefferson.  
> 4\. Eliza and Hamilton did actually stay up all night writing the bank proposal, per an interview done with Eliza later in life.  
> 5\. How the affair plays out is all based on the Reynolds Pamphlet, as it’s the only source.  
> 6.This isn’t historical, it’s a self plug if anything, but I got a tumblr, so if you want to check it out and babble characterization with me, I’d really appreciate it. (But don’t feel pressured!) It’s @lessneartothesun  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you, again, for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 1791-December 16, 1792

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> WARNING:  
> A derogatory word used against women.

_June 1791, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

The first thought that ran through my head was _what had I done?_ My muscles tightened and I turned to look at Mrs. Reynolds, her long blonde hair cascading over her breasts.

Dear god, what had I done?

Mrs. Reynolds curled up in bed and turned away from me. For a long moment, I did nothing. I simply watched her breathe.

I ran a hand through my hair, resting my elbows on my knees and burying my face in my hands. Dear god, I had taken another woman to bed, all the while my children and Eliza— my darling, dear wife— sat at home.

My breath hitched in my throat at the thought. _Eliza._ Dear god, what had I done to her? 

Slowly and cautiously, I climbed out of the bed, hurrying back into my suit, all the while my head spun and my hands shook.

The very same hands that had touched Maria Reynolds, a woman who was not my wife.

Without another word, I dashed out of the lodgings. To my immense gratitude— or perhaps luck— there wasn’t a single soul around, and I walked down the streets of Philadelphia to my house alone.

What had I done? I looked down at my hands, the hands which had cupped Maria Reynolds’ body, the hands that had so utterly betrayed me this night.

Despite the sweltering heat, I felt chills run down my spine. As my house came into view, I felt my chest constrict.

Inside that house lay my wife and family, the family that I’d made for myself, the family that I had also betrayed.

Then, I stopped. Unless… well, it wasn’t as if Eliza needed to know everything. If I simply omitted a few details, she’d be none the wiser.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she needed to know. It would only distress her. I nodded my head. Yes, it was better that Eliza never know the horrible truth of what I’d done.

No one would ever know, and it wasn’t as if I’d ever see Mrs. Reynolds again. She was a lapse in judgement, nothing more, and she didn’t matter.

Yet, despite that, the moment I entered my silent house, guilt curled in my heart and I found myself barely able to draw breath.

I climbed up the stairs and entered mine and Eliza’s bedroom, where Eliza sat on our bed, reading and humming to herself.

I closed the door behind me and Eliza looked up, smiling sweetly at me. “Ah, Alexander!” She hurried to my side, kissing me swiftly. “Where have you been?”

My hands twitched and, as I cupped Eliza’s soft cheek, I felt as if I was marring her. “I went to my office to check up on something.”

Eliza rolled her eyes. “You and that office…” As she untied my cravat with steady hands, I wondered how I had ever mustered the nerve to lay with someone else.

“Thank you, my sweet girl,” I muttered, resting my head in the crook of Eliza’s neck.

I didn’t deserve her.

“Alexander?” Eliza asked gently, running her fingers through my hair, her touch so familiar and so undeserved.

I shook my head, softly pressing my lips to Eliza’s. As I pulled her to me, I hoped the feel of my lips on hers could say all that I could not.

_Eliza, I’m so sorry._

A few days later, I received a letter from Mrs. Reynolds, who requested that I come to her house. Despite the folly of the decision, I found myself traveling to her house.

That night, I mistakenly repeated my previous lapse of judgment.

Soon enough, it had become a pastime. 

In early July, to avoid the heat and sickness that roamed in the city, Eliza and the children retreated to Albany.

I stood in front of the coach, which would take my family to Albany, bidding each of the children goodbye as I did. Finally, I turned to Eliza, who let out a puff.

“Don’t forget to write about Jamie,” I said, turning to look at little Jamie, lying in the carriage, somewhat ill. “Update me as often as you can.”

Eliza rolled her eyes, leaning up to press her lips to mine. As she kissed me, guilt curled in my heart. “You needn’t worry. We’ll be safe at my parents’ home.”

I nodded, cupping Eliza’s cheek. “I love you, my dear. So much.” I pulled her to me, resting my face in her collar. I didn’t deserve Eliza. I didn’t deserve her.

Oh, Eliza, how I longed to tell her of the wrongs I’d done her. But I did not. Instead, I squeezed Eliza’s waist, wider from four births so far.

“I love you, too, Alexander.” Eliza frowned, tilting my chin down so that I was meeting her eyes. “Is something wrong? You’ve seemed distant as of late.”

There it was. The perfect moment to tell Eliza everything, to lay my sins before her for judgment. Instead, I shook my head. “Nothing is wrong, my sweet girl. I only worry for you.” I pressed my lips to Eliza’s temple. “You should be going. Write to me immediately upon your arrival to Albany.”

Eliza nodded, squeezing my hand then jumping into the coach, immediately placing Jamie on her lap. The children waved farewell to me as the coach pulled away.

Only a few hours after Eliza and the children had left, right as night fell, there was knock at the door and I hurried Mrs. Reynolds into the house.

“I took back alleys,” Mrs. Reynolds said softly at my prompting, taking her shawl off. “But I’m here now…”

She ran her nails over my arms, pressing her lips to the base of my neck. “Come upstairs,” I mumbled, pulling Maria upstairs with me.

After all, I had never liked sleeping alone.

And, as I fell asleep that night, if I closed my eyes tight enough, I could almost pretend that it was Eliza that I was holding so close.

Eliza, the children, —including Jamie, healed of his illness— returned to Philadelphia in September, to a new house, located on Markett Street. With them was Peggy, and her husband, Stephen Van Rensselaer.

“Betsey,” I gasped, immediately pulling Eliza to me as soon as she had exited the carriage, resting my head in the crook of her neck.

“My love,” Eliza said softly, tilting my chin up and brushing her lips against mine. “How was your summer? I missed you so deeply.”

I thought of Maria Reynolds’ gasps, sweat stained sheets, and how I had imagined Eliza in bed beside me instead of Mrs. Reynolds.

“It was as busy as can be expected,” I responded, caressing Eliza’s soft cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here now.”

Before Eliza could respond, Peggy stepped out of the carriage with her husband’s help. “Alexander Hamilton,” Peggy exclaimed, walking up to me. “Or should I say Secretary Hamilton?” She raised an eyebrow and I laughed.

“Peggy, it’s wonderful to see you.” I craned my neck around Peggy to look at the carriage. “Are your children with you?”

Peggy shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. “No, I’m afraid not. Mama and Papa offered to keep them. Besides, you two have enough children for all of us.”

Eliza rolled her eyes. “Peggy, you are too much.” She turned around to hurry to the carriage.

Immediately, Peggy turned her full attention to me. “Now, dear brother, what exactly was keeping you from Albany?” She frowned, looking truly disappointed. “We all wanted to see you.”

I shrugged, already feeling guilty as I looked at Peggy. “Work. After all, the government can’t run itself! What if we had a dire financial emergency and I was all the way in Albany?”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “I expect to see you next summer; if Eliza decides to go to Albany, that is.”

I nodded stiffly. “Of course, little sister.” 

Right as Peggy was about to respond, Alex and Jamie ran at me, throwing their little arms around my legs. “Papa!”

I beamed, picking up Jamie and running my fingers through Alex’s hair. “My little darlings. I missed you,” I cooed, pressing a kiss to Jamie’s cheek, indescribably relieved to see him in good health and well.

The older children also hurried up to me, hugging my waist. “Anne, Philip,” I addressed them, kissing the top of both of their heads. “How are you?”

Philip looked up at me, shrugging. My heart swelled at my big little son. “I’m excited to go to real school!”

I nodded. “Soon, Philip. Soon.” I shook my head. “Now, did you two look out for your mother?” I looked between Philip and Anne, who both nodded. 

“We did,” Anne said. “Mama was very sick all summer, but we were almost always at her side.”

I frowned, turning to look at Eliza. “Your illness was not that bad, correct?” I asked, remembering receiving a letter from Eliza, detailing her, allegedly, inconsequential illness.

Eliza nodded her head, cupping my cheek. “It was a result of anxiety, my love. You needn’t worry,” Eliza reassured me.

Hesitantly, I nodded. I had already wronged Eliza enough as it was. If she became ill— seriously ill— and I hadn’t been there to comfort her, I wasn’t sure if I could forgive myself.

“We have just taken house in Markett Street nearly opposet the President who you know lives in Robert Morris house. I delivered your compliments as you wished to Mrs Washington who received them affectionately and made many enquirys after you. Peggy has just left this city with Mr. Rensselear having spent three weeks with us she is in good health and spirits but bears no marks of usefulness to the Commonwealth.”

Excerpt of a letter from Elizabeth Hamilton to Angelica Church, 10/02/1791

After staying with us for three weeks, Peggy and Mr. Van Rensselaer returned to Albany in early October.

About a month later, on November twenty sixth, Eliza and I travelled to Trenton, New Jersey, where Philip began schooling under the Reverend William Frazer at St. Michael’s Church.

A little over a week later, on January fifth, I submitted my paper, _Report on the Subject of Manufactures,_ to Congress with the purpose to promote manufacturing.

In my limited free time, I still continued to see Mrs. Reynolds. Despite how horrible I felt about lying to my sweet Eliza, it seemed that I always returned to Mrs. Reynolds.

Perhaps after so many months of keeping it quiet, I had begun to believe that _no one_ would ever know.

I was wrong. So, so wrong.

The letter came on December fifteenth, seventeen ninety one. 

I was sitting in the parlor, writing, when Eliza entered the room, holding a few envelopes. “Alexander, there are two letters for you.” 

I didn’t look up from my writing. “Who are they from?” I asked, only half listening to Eliza’s words.

“They’re from a Mr. James Reynolds and a Mrs. Maria Reynolds,” Eliza answered, and I stilled in my writing, my breath hitching in my throat at her words, spoken as if this wasn’t what I’d been dreading for months.

I looked up from my writing and Eliza handed me the letters. I desperately hoped that my hands weren’t shaking enough for it to be noticeable.

“Alexander?” Eliza asked as soon as I stood up. “Where are you going?”

I forced myself to smile at Eliza as if I didn’t want to scream at the world, at myself for being such a fool. “To my office, so I may read and respond to my letters.”

Eliza looked unconvinced. “Alexander, if something is wrong…” She trailed off, intertwining her fingers together.

I shook my head, stepping forward to kiss Eliza’s temple. “It is nothing, my sweet angel.” I turned around and walked away before Eliza could respond.

I hurried into my office, shutting the door behind me. “Breathe, Alexander,” I reminded myself, deciding to open the letter from Mrs. Reynolds first.

I began read, my head spinning, when I read one line that caused me to barely refrain from ripping the letter to shreds.

_… He has swore that If you do not answer It or If he dose not se or hear from you to day he will write Mrs. Hamilton…_

I dropped the letter onto the desk, burying my face in my hands. Dear god, what had I done? If he didn’t have a response he would write to Eliza?

I cautiously picked up the letter again, finishing it with bated breath. I set it aside, picking up the letter from James Reynolds.

_I would Sacrefise almost my life to make her Happy. but now I am determed to have satisfation…_

After reading the letter to its end, I set it down, jumping up and grabbing a paperweight on my desk, watching with petty satisfaction as it hit the wall opposite to me with a bang.

I began to pace, my head working to find a solution. I ran my hand through my hair, collapsing onto my desk chair.

It seemed that my only option was to write to Mr. Reynolds and talk to the man. It was what both he and Mrs. Reynolds had advised me to do, so it seemed to me the best bet to keep Eliza from finding out.

I picked up my quill with heavy hands and began to pen a letter to Mr. James Reynolds.

“I discovered a letter directed to you which I copied of and put it in the place where I found it. without being discovered by Her. and then the evining after. I was Curious anough to watch her. and see give a letter to a Black man in Markett Street. which I followed Him to your door. after that I Returned home some time in the evening, and I broutched the Matter to her and Red the Coppy to her which she fell upon her knees and asked forgiveness and discovered every thing to me Respecting the matter And ses that she was unhappy.”

Excerpt of a letter from James Reynolds to Alexander Hamilton, 12/15/1791

That afternoon, James Reynolds arrived at my office, his hat pulled low over his eyes. “Secretary Hamilton.” He placed his hat over his chest. “An honor, good sir.”

I dug my nails deep into my hand to keep myself from snapping at Reynolds, silently reminding myself to never say anything outright. After all, I didn’t know definitely if Reynolds knew of what I’d done it if he was simply bluffing.

“Mr. James Reynolds, I presume?” I asked, sitting up straighter in my chair when Reynolds nodded. I gestured to the chair across from my desk. “Please, sir, sit.”

Reynolds did as I requested, crossing his knee over his leg. “So, Mr. Hamilton, I think we are both aware of the… circumstances which have brought me here.” He looked up at me. “Aren’t we?”

I laced my fingers together, raising an eyebrow at Reynolds. “Are we now?” I asked, and Mr. Reynolds let out a laugh, and I began to speak. “Sir, I suppose that you know best what evidence you have of the alleged connection between me and your wife, and that I have neither admitted nor denied it.” I took a deep breath in. “If you know of any injury I have done you, entitling you to satisfaction, it lies with you to name it.”

Reynolds’ eyes narrowed at me, and his eyes met mine with a searching expression in them. “I hate to say this, sir, but you’ve made a cuckold out of the wrong man. Now, you’ve wronged me terribly.” Reynolds sighed loudly. “You’ve alienated my wife from me, _good sir,_ and I demand the satisfaction that I am owed.” His eyes flitted to my closed checkbook.

I looked back at Reynolds just as deeply as he had me, wondering if it was a duel that he was issuing, when it came to me.

_He wanted money._

“Sir, if it is monetary satisfaction that you desire, I am very willing to comply.” Reynolds nodded slowly, and I continued. “To manage your delicacy, sir, I made you a promise of service, that I was disposed to do it as far as might be proper, and, in my power, I request that you consider in what manner I could do it, and to write to me once you’ve made a decision.” 

Reynolds stood up. “I’ll be sure to write to you, Secretary Hamilton.” The pure mockery in his voice was enough to make me straighten my spine.

Only once he’d left the room did I allow myself to release the fury building within me.

Two days later, on the seventeenth of December, I received another letter from James Reynolds, blaming me for the deterioration of his marriage and asking to meet with me.

The next day, I found myself at George Tavern. I saw Reynolds in the corner of the mostly empty tavern, two mugs of ale sitting on the table before him.

As I approached the table, my heart pounding so loud I feared that Reynolds could hear it, Reynolds looked up at me. “Ah, Secretary.”

I glared at him, sitting down across from him. “Hush.” I grabbed my mug of ale, taking a long sip, enjoying the warmness that grew in my body. 

“So, Mr. Secretary, how has your day been?” Reynolds asked, looking at me mirthfully over the rim of his mug. 

I narrowed my eyes, setting down my mug with a clink. “Let’s not bother with pleasantries.” I took a shaky breath in, willing myself to stay calm. “We both know why I’m here.”

Reynolds rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, I suppose we do. Now, I want payment. Not only did you ruin my marriage, but you wouldn’t want your little wife—Elizabeth, is it? — to find out what you’ve done to her, would you?”

I wanted to yell at him. Tell him that he wasn’t good enough to polish Eliza’s shoes, much less speak her name. Instead, I nodded stiffly.

“No. No, we wouldn’t want that.”

Reynolds smiled— a cruel, vile thing. “Good. Then I suppose we’re in agreement.”

I huffed out a breath, gritting my teeth together as I spoke. “How much money do you want?” I could feel the pressure of my checkbook in my coat pocket, ready to be pulled out.

Reynolds sighed. “Well, I just don’t know. I’ll write to you tomorrow, naming my price.”

I bit my tongue harshly, drawing blood. “I am tired of being toyed with, Mr. Reynolds,” I said slowly. “Write to me. Tomorrow, but no later.”

Reynolds stood up, dusting off his coat and putting on his hat. “That I will do.” He bowed his head. “Good day to you, Mr. Secretary.”

I watched him go before I dove into my coat pocket and slapping down payment on the table. 

And, despite the warmth that the little tavern provided, I had never felt more chilled.

I crawled into bed beside Eliza that night, trying not to wake her. I thought I had succeeded, until Eliza suddenly grasped my hand, turning over to face me.

“Mm, Alexander, you’re back.” Her voice was slurred from being on the brink of sleep, her features just barely illuminated from the light of the moon shining through our bedroom window.

In that moment, I wanted so badly to tell Eliza everything. To fall to my knees and beg for her forgiveness.

Instead of doing so, I pulled Eliza to me and kissed her forehead. I decided then that I would never again see Maria Reynolds.

Never.

“I have This preposial to make to you. give me the Sum Of thousand dollars and I will leve the town and take my daughter with me and go where my Friends Shant here from me and leve her to Yourself to do for as you think proper.”

Excerpt of a letter from James Reynolds to Alexander Hamilton, 12/19/1791

After resolving to pay Reynolds the money I owed him in two increments— once on December twenty second and once on January third— I foolishly believed that I was through with Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds.

Unfortunately, my decision to never see Mrs. Reynolds did not last as long as I might have hoped.

On January seventeenth, seventeen ninety two I received two letters, one from Mrs. Reynolds and one from Mr. Reynolds, requesting that I resume my meetings with Mrs. Reynolds, if only in a purely platonic manner.

As horrible as it was, I did agree to meet with her, and our ‘meetings’ were not even in the realm of what could be considered platonic.

Then, finally, on May second, Reynolds wrote to me, asking me to no longer visit Mrs. Reynolds. I did as he asked, an enormous burden being lifted from my shoulders.

I immersed myself in work and caring for Eliza and our new baby John, called Johnny and named after John Church, who was born on August twenty second.

For months, I didn’t hear of anything relating to either of the Reynolds, and believed that I never would again.

I was wrong.

In mid December, a few days before my bank opened on the twelfth, I received a visitor at my house, Mrs. Maria Reynolds herself. 

Recently, I had received letters from Reynolds and news that he was in jail for fraud regarding the American government.

A deal was bargained, saying that if Reynolds and his friend returned the money they’d defrauded, returned a list of soldiers that they’d stolen, and identified the Treasury employee who had ratted them out, the charges laid at their feet _might_ be dropped.

I was sitting on my office when Mrs. Reynolds entered the room, causing me to drop my quill. I jumped up out of my chair, hurrying to her side.

“What are you doing here?” I raised an eyebrow. “Explain or leave.” I pointed towards my, thankfully, closed office door. 

Mrs. Reynolds took a step away from me, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I simply came to know the truth.” Mrs. Reynolds took a shuddering breath. “Why haven’t you helped my husband?”

I gasped at her. “Are you insane?” I laughed humorously, throwing my hands in the air. “Why would I help you people? You’ve done nothing but ruin my life!”

Mrs. Reynolds flinched. I felt a pang of guilt, but, otherwise, I just didn’t care. “Burn my letters to you. Your husband should just do as asked by the government. That’s the quickest way for him to remove himself from trouble.” 

Those letters were damning, and the very idea that they might fall into the wrong hands sent a shiver down my spine.

Mrs. Reynolds glared at me. When she spoke, there was a challenge in her voice. “And _why_ should I do as you ask?” Immediately, she seemed to realize what she’d said, curling into herself.

“Burn the letters,” I ordered, my voice low.

Mrs. Reynolds didn’t say anything, simply turning around and leaving. I watched her go, my heart beating much too loudly in my chest.

I ran my hand through my hair. This didn’t matter. Nothing would come of it.

Nothing.

In the middle of the night on December twelfth, I received a visitor, sent from James Reynolds, who had since been freed from prison. The visitor informed me that he would meet with me at sunrise.

I was unable to find sleep the rest of the night.

After assuring myself that Eliza was still asleep, I hurried Reynolds into my home office, locking the door behind me.

“What in all of hell do you want?” I asked, forcing myself to keep my voice low. “You are out of jail! What could you possibly want from me?”

Reynolds shrugged nonchalantly, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m simply informing you that there are some men I plan to talk to.” I froze. “So, I beg you to be careful.”

I swirled around to face Reynolds, fighting the very real urge to punch him in the nose and watch him bleed.

I began to pace, tapping my hand against my thigh. I could hear myself rambling, although I had no inkling of what I might have been saying.

“I have enemies at work, and I am willing to meet with them on fair ground! You have nothing.” _A blatant lie._ “Now, go! Don’t stay long, or it will become suspect.”

Reynolds left about a minute later, right as Eliza entered my office, her nightdress hanging over her slim frame, and a candle in her hand.

“Alexander, who was that man?” she asked, watching Reynolds walk down the stairs. “What is wrong?”

I shook my head, walking towards Eliza and cupping her cheek, resting my forehead against hers. “Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all.”

Everything came to a head on the morning of December fifteenth. 

As I wrote in my office, I was alerted that three men wished to speak to me— Congressman Frederick Muhlenberg, Senator James Monroe, and Representative Abraham Venable.

I looked up from my papers as the door opened with a creak, the three men entering the room and closing the door behind them. 

I stood up. “Congressman Muhlenberg, Senator Monroe, Representative Venable. What do I owe the pleasure of a visit?”

The three men looked at each other before Muhlenberg stepped up, digging into his pocket and producing a packet of letters.

“We have discovered a very improper connection between you and a Mr. Reynolds.” My breath hitched in my throat.

“Have you now?”

Muhlenberg nodded. “Yes, we have.” He gave me a flat expression. “We have the letters right here, in your hand.”

I balled my hands into tight fists. “And what, pray tell, are you accusing me of?” I squared my shoulders. “Because, I assure you, I have done nothing wrong! So, explain what vile things you are accusing me of.”

Monroe stepped up to stand beside Monroe, holding his hands out. “Mr. Secretary, please believe us when we say that we do not intend to take that fact for granted! Our meaning was to apprise to you that, unsought by us, information had been given to us of an improper pecuniary connection between Mr. Reynolds and yourself.”

Venable nodded. “Yes. We had thought it our duty to pursue it and had become possessed of some documents of a suspicious complexion. In truth, we had contemplated laying the matter before the President.” I stiffened. 

Venable continued. “But, before we did this, we thought it right to apprise you of the affair and to afford an opportunity of explanation.” 

I hummed and Muhlenberg patted Venable’s shoulder. “Please, rest assured, that our agency in the matter is influenced _solely_ by a sense of public duty and by no motive of personal ill will towards you.”

After the three men finished speaking, Muhlenberg handed me the packet of letters, I looked over them, recognizing the handwriting, which was unmistakably mine.

“Yes,” I said, running my hand over the letters’ envelopes, the paranoid sentences undoubtedly contained inside. “This is my handwriting.”

The three men stared at me, eyes wide, as if I had just delivered the shock of the century. “They… They are yours?” Monroe stuttered.

I slid the packet of letters back across my desk, watching as Muhlenberg retrieved them. “Yes,” I answered. “They are mine. But not in the way you believe.”

I rubbed my fingers over my eyes. “Nothing financially improper occurred. I always stand ready to meet fair inquiry with frank communication. It is in my power, by written documents, to remove all doubt as to the real nature of the business, and to fully convince you all that nothing of the kind imputed to me did in fact exist.”

Muhlenberg furrowed his eyebrows together. “I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean?”

I sighed. “Come to my home. Tonight. I…” I steeled myself. “I will explain everything in full.”

The three men nodded, and I felt the pit in my stomach grow. What was I doing? “We will be at your house this evening,” Muhlenberg said, placing his hat on his head and exiting the room, the other two men following him.

As soon as they left, I slumped in my chair. Good lord, what was I doing? But I had made my choice.

I wouldn’t _not,_ under any circumstances, allow those men to shape the narrative of what happened between Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds and I.

Not under _any_ circumstances.

That evening, I paced in my office when there was a knock at the door. I hurried to open it, revealing only Eliza on the other side.

She took a deep breath in. “There are four men here for you.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Betsey. Please, send them into my office.” I hurried to my desk, to where I had the letters from Mrs. and Mr. Reynolds hidden.

However, Eliza still remained standing in the doorway, biting her lip and clutching the door frame. “Alexander, what has happened?”

I dropped my head into my hands. “Please, Eliza, just… send the men in.” I looked right into Eliza’s eyes as I spoke. “Please.”

Eliza nodded, leaving the room. Soon after, there was a knock at the door, revealing Congressman Muhlenberg, Senator Monroe, Representative Venable, and my friend Oliver Wollcott Junior, who was there at my request.

“Gentlemen,” I said in greeting, jumping up out of my seat behind my desk. “Please, come in, and shut the door behind you.”

The four men did so, standing in front of my desk. “So,” Muhlenburg began, “I suppose we should start with the background, and why we are here at all.”

I nodded. “Yes, please do.”

I listened as they told me of how they’d come across my connection to Mrs. and Mr. Reynolds.

Apparently, Mr. Reynolds and a friend of his, Jacob Clingman, were arrested for defrauding the American government of a sum of four hundred dollars. 

The men, then in a jail located in Philadelphia, blamed me for ratting them out, which I did know of, considering the letters I’d received from Reynolds and hadn’t even really read.

After being released on bail, Clingman went to Muhlenberg, insinuating that he had damning information regarding myself.

Soon after, Muhlenberg and Monroe visited Mrs. Reynolds, who showed them my letters, having only apparently burned a small number.

Allegedly, Reynolds had agreed to meet with Monroe and Venerable at ten in the morning on the very day he had taunted me as dawn.

He never arrived, and Muhlenberg, Monroe, and Venable then went to me for answers.

At the end, Wolcott seemed shocked into silence, and my heart burned with shame.

After a long moment of silence from everyone in the room, I stood up, steeling myself for the salacious story I now had to tell.

“In the summer of seventeen ninety one, I received a visitor at my house, a Mrs. Maria Reynolds.” I took a shallow breath. “She told me that her husband had abandoned her, and I offered to come to her house that night and bring her money so she could travel to a relative’s home in New York. I… After I’d brought the money to her home, located at number one hundred fifty four South Fourth Street, she…” I sighed. “She invited me into her bed.”

When I looked up at the Muhlenberg, Monroe, and Venable, they were all staring at me with wide eyes. Even Wolcott, who I had informed of my wrongdoing, seemed somewhat shocked, as if he’d thought that I was bluffing.

I opened my mouth to continue, but Muhlenburg held out a hand, shaking his head. “Sir, we beg of you to discontinue. This is… unnecessary.” 

But I wasn’t done. I had to make sure that not even a _shred_ of doubt was left in their minds of my real crime.

“Please, sirs, you’ve asked for an explanation, and an explanation you shall have.” I continued.

I told them of Eliza and the children’s retreat to Albany, of the letters, the meetings with Reynolds, the hush money I paid, of Reynolds’ blackmail, and of my finally ending the affair.

At the end of the tale, I showed the four men in my office the letters from Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, neatly tucked into a drawer in my desk.

After the letters had been passed around, I snatched them back into my hands, placing them where they had previously been.

“Now, are my answers to your satisfaction?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

Silence. Until, finally, Monroe let out a breath. “Well…” He trailed off. 

Muhlenburg looked at Monroe curiously before he turned to me. “We…” He waved his hand in the air as if searching for words. “Thank you for telling us this. We see that you have done nothing to indicate that legal action is necessary.” He cleared his throat. “This will stay between us. No one else will know.”

I nodded. “Thank you. And, I must admit, all of your conduct has been fair and liberal. I cannot complain of it.” 

The four men nodded, and, after bidding me adieu, they left the room. Monroe was the last to leave, giving me a searching look as he did.

I was still in my office about an hour later, doing nothing but thinking, when Eliza entered the room, her hands clasped behind her back. She shut the door behind her upon entering my office.

“Betsey, what is it?” I asked, looking up from my hands. 

Eliza took a step towards me. “Alexander, why were those men here?” I didn’t speak, for I didn’t trust myself to. _“Alexander.”_

I stood up. “Betsey, it is nothing.”

Eliza gave me a deep look, and she looked as if she was going to exit the room, before she stopped, shaking her head. “Alexander, tell me. I’m your wife. Whatever it is that has you so worried, I’m sure it’s not that awful.”

I simply stared at Eliza. My sweet, dear Eliza, who had no idea what she was asking me to confess. But, at the same time, I realized that perhaps I _should_ tell her.

Not only did I hate having to live with this secret, this sin, on my chest, but now four other people already knew.

What would stop _them_ from telling Eliza?

I made my decision. Better me than anyone else. I stood up, taking Eliza’s hands and leading her to the settee in the corner of my office.

“Eliza, you know how deeply I love you.” I tucked a loose strand of hair behind Eliza’s ear, inhaling deeply. “Right?”

Eliza nodded, squeezing my hands. “Of course, my love.” She looked at me, clearly perplexed. “What’s wrong?”

I looked down at mine and Eliza’s joint hands, then I forced myself to lift my gaze to meet Eliza’s. “For a time, there… there was another woman.”

Eliza’s hands tightened in mine, and she simply blinked at me, not speaking. Finally, after a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Eliza spoke up, her voice naught more than a whisper. “What? I don’t understand.”

I sighed. “Eliza…”

I watched as Eliza’s eyes widened and she jerked her hands out of mine, her face contorting. “Oh my…” Her hands flew to her mouth. “No. No.” She shook her head. “No.”

I moved to take Eliza’s hand, but she pulled away from me before I could, jumping up and stumbling back. 

Neither of us spoke, simply staring at the other. Then, Eliza began to speak. “So, is she pregnant? Is she?”

I shook my head, partly insulted. “No, no! I… Eliza, no.” I shook my head again, looking down at my hands. “It’s not possible.”

Eliza blinked heavily, burying her face in her hands. “So, then _why_ were those men here?”

I told Eliza everything. Of the letters, of the blackmail, of Reynolds’ crimes, and of how the three men came into the story.

By the end of it, I could barely speak, and Eliza’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. Then, taking me by surprise, she laughed, however absent of joy it was.

“Good lord…” She rubbed her eyes, and only then did I notice the tears slipping down her cheeks. “Is there anything you didn’t do? What? Did you bring your whore into our marital bed as well?”

I remained silent and Eliza gasped. “No. No, no, no…” I stood up, but Eliza held out her hands. “No! Don’t touch me!”

I stepped away, watching as Eliza sobbed silently, her arms wrapped tight around her chest, muttering to herself. “I don’t understand, I don’t understand…”

“Eliza, Mrs. Reynolds meant nothing.” I moved towards Eliza, whose eyes were still squeezed shut. “Nothing at all.”

“How can you expect me to believe you?” Eliza snapped, pure rage displayed on her face. “How can you expect me to believe that?”

Eliza let out another choked sob, her nails dug deep into her arm. It cracked my heart to watch her in such a state, and all because of me.

“What did I do wrong?” Eliza finally asked, looking up at me, her dark eyes shining. “Was I not enough?”

The pure desperation in her voice— the pain, the anger, the anguish— was what finally shattered my heart, and I felt tears begin to stream down my cheeks.

“Eliza, you have always been, and always will be, enough.” I wiped my eyes. “The fault is all mine.”

Eliza glared at me. “I don’t believe you.” Her gaze drifted to the uncovered window in my office, overlooking the snow covered street.

“Everyone warned me to be careful of you. Kitty, Colonel Tilghman, even my Aunt, but I believed in you,” Eliza said softly, her voice steady. “I suppose that was my mistake.”

I bit my lip to keep my tears at bay, taking a step towards Eliza. “Eliza, I love you. So much. And I can never cease to condemn myself for the pain I’ve inflicted upon you.”

I moved to cup Eliza’s damp cheek, but she shook her head, flinching away from my touch. “Don’t touch me,” she practically snarled, wrapping her arms around her chest as if she could shield herself from me.

Eliza’s gaze moved to my desk and she pointed at it. “I want to see the letters.”

I frowned. “What?”

Eliza glared at me. “Don’t play the fool. Your lover’s letters, Alexander.” I winced at the description of Mrs. Reynolds, but I obeyed, digging into my desk drawer and procuring Mrs. Reynolds’ letters, handing them to Eliza with clammy hands.

I watched as Eliza read through the letters, her face utterly blank. Finally, she set them down on my desk.

“That is the woman you chose?” Eliza asked, her tone displaying her incredulity. “A twenty three year old _child_ who can barely spell?” Her voice was low, her hands balled into fists.

I didn’t say anything or move anything. I didn’t even return the letters to their rightful place in my desk drawer.

Eliza swallowed, rubbing her eyes, tears streaking her pretty face once more. “I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised by this.”

I tilted my head to the side in confusion, watching as Eliza straightened her spine. “I guess that it is true what they say, that the apple never falls far from the tree.” Eliza looked right into my eyes, her dark eyes boring into my light ones. “You do know what they say, after all. Like mother like son.”

I took an involuntary step back, my hands flying to my mouth, which hung open. 

When I mustered the strength to look at Eliza, she appeared as shocked as I was by her words, but she didn’t take them back either.

I took a step towards Eliza, then another when she didn’t shy away. I looked down into Eliza’s shining eyes, and I clasped her small hands in mine.

“Please, don’t leave me,” I begged, for it was all I could think to say. I had already lost John all those years ago— although through no fault of my own— and I was absolutely sure that I would not be able bear it if Eliza left me as well.

“Please, don’t leave me,” I repeated, resting my nose in Eliza’s neck. “Please, Eliza.” I brushed my lips over her shoulder. “Don’t leave me.”

I— or perhaps it was Eliza— let out a sob, and suddenly Eliza pushed me away from her.

“Leave me alone,” Eliza said.

I stared blankly at her. Eliza was leaving me, she was leaving, like everyone else; it was entirely my fault, just like everyone else.

“Don’t leave me,” I whispered.

A single tear made its mournful path down Eliza’s cheek, and she wiped her hands on her dress. “I just need to think.”

I watched as Eliza left the room, falling to my knees as soon as the door shut behind her.

The next morning, at dawn, I trudged into the parlor, where Eliza sat, alone, staring out the window, a cold cup of tea before her.

“Did you sleep?” I asked, sitting down beside Eliza, whose shoulders tightened as I did so.

Eliza turned to look at me. “Did you?” She raised her eyebrows, and only then did I notice that her eyes were rimmed red, as if she’d spent the whole night sobbing.

My stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out.

Eliza stared blankly at me. “If I were to throw that cup of tea on the ground and it shattered, if you said sorry, would it mend itself?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. No, it would not.”

Eliza nodded. “Your apologies, regardless of their sincerity, mean nothing in reality.” Eliza turned away from me, her eyes on the stairs.

My gaze followed hers, and my hands tightened. The children… God, how many lives had I ruined in my lust driven endeavor?

I wanted so desperately to apologize, or, perhaps, peek into Eliza’s head and see what she was thinking, what was going through her head.

What was she thinking? Did her feeling of anger override her feelings of love for me? Did she have any inkling that something was wrong before I confessed? Or was she truly taken aback by my confession?

I wished that I could take back ever even meeting Maria Reynolds. Why hadn’t I turned her away? Why hadn’t I said no that night?

Why didn’t say no that entire summer, or that autumn, or that winter, or that spring? Why had I let it go so far?

Eliza was the best wife, the best partner, that a husband could ask for. How had I ever _dared_ betray her in such a way?

Unfortunately, there was nothing that I could do now.

What was done was done.

Eliza’s head dropped to her lap, and she ran her hands over the little gold band on her ring finger, which had remained on her finger for over a decade.

She removed her fingers from the ring, standing up and taking her cold cup of tea with her. “You should ready yourself for work.”

With that, I watched as Eliza turned on her heel and walked away, her posture as perfect as it ever was, but her head bowed low.

Yet, despite how cold Eliza was to me, I felt gratitude bloom in my heart.

For Eliza had stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Also, I am SO sorry that this chapter took so long to get out. Life’s just been a little hectic as of late, but I’m back now! The next chapter should be up soon. And, I just wanted to say, thank you so very much for all of the comments and kudos! They are great motivation to write! Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. In his Hamilton biography, Chernow says that Eliza and the children left for Albany on July 4, 1791, but he doesn’t have a source for that, so I just decided on early July.  
> 2\. All of the events with James Reynolds and Monroe and Co. are all from the Reynolds Pamphlet or other sources. Most of the dialogue is paraphrased directly from the Pamphlet as well.  
> 3\. We don’t know exactly when Eliza found out about the affair, but it’s pretty unlikely that- as the musical portrays- she found out when the pamphlet was published. So, I just picked a date.  
> 4\. Check me out on tumblr, if you’d like: @lessneartothesun. But don’t feel pressured! (Sorry for the self plug.)  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you so much, again, for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 1793-January 31, 1795

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter! 
> 
> WARNING:  
> There is a miscarriage in this chapter. If you’d wish to skip it, go from “It was while I was on my way, riding as fast as I dared, that I received the letter from Henry Knox.” to “I was always too late.”

_January 1793, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

In January of seventeen ninety three, an investigation into my conduct as Treasury Secretary commenced.

I was sitting in my office, fuming, when Eliza hesitantly entered the room, immediately causing my attention to drift to her.

Eliza, who had barely looked me in the eyes the past few weeks. Eliza, who had still stayed with me, regardless of all the wrongs I’d done her.

“Betsey,” I gasped, gesturing to the settee beside my desk, desperate for even a _moment_ of her time. 

Ever since I’d revealed my sin to Eliza, it seemed that I never saw her anymore, unless we were around the children. Eliza and I seemed to have come to the same conclusion: that the children needn’t ever know of the rift between us.

And, seeing her in my office, there willingly— and of her own accord no less— sent a pang of longing through my body.

“Alexander,” Eliza said stiffly, breaking me from my thoughts. She shut the door behind her, stepping towards me. I watched closely as Eliza’s eyes flitted around the room before finally, and seemingly somewhat reluctantly, landing on me.

“It’s…” Eliza picked at her dress. It still amazed me that even after more than a decade of marriage, I always managed to find something new about Eliza that I hadn’t noticed before. “It’s not true, is it?”

I frowned. “What isn’t?”

Eliza huffed out a breath, looking at the floor as she spoke. “That you committed misconduct? It’s all lies?”

I rolled my eyes, running my hands through my hair, feeling quite insulted. Finally, I looked up at Eliza, who quickly averted her eyes. 

“Really, Eliza?” I asked. “You find out that I had an affair and suddenly you believe the lies people are publishing in the papers?” I swallowed heavily. “Would you really think so badly of me?”

Eliza glared at me. “Don’t you _dare_ make this my fault,” Eliza snapped, jabbing her finger at me. “And, clearly, I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

I clenched my fists, watching as Eliza rubbed her eyes. “There was a time when I was secure about your love; a time when it was all I had faith in. That’s been revealed to be nothing but a lie, so _excuse me_ for questioning what I once thought to be an unwavering truth.”

I looked down guiltily at my hands. “I do love you,” I said lowly. “That is, and always will be, an unwavering truth.” I stood up, slowly approaching Eliza. “You have to believe me.”

Eliza scoffed, looking up at me with fury in her eyes. “Must I?” she asked, raising a challenging eyebrow. 

I shook my head, the back of my hand grazing Eliza’s and sending a shock through my body. Eliza instantly drew her hand back as if she’d been burned.

“Eliza, my darling, I only paid Mr. Reynolds the money I did to keep him from telling you.” I took a step closer to Eliza, watching as she averted her eyes. “Why can’t you see that I did what I did to protect you?”

I cupped Eliza’s cheek, smiling as she leaned into the touch, looking up at me from under her eyelashes. “I…” Eliza trailed off, biting her lip.

I moved down, her lips so close from mine, when the door opened and Eliza and I flew apart. 

“Oh!” Cornelia— Eliza’s younger sister, who was staying with us for the winter— exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Eliza; I’m sorry, Alexander!”

I shook my head once it became apparent that Eliza wasn’t going to speak. “It’s alright, Cornelia,” I said. “I only request that next time you knock.”

Cornelia nodded, swiftly scampering away, out of sight. I shut the door behind her, turning to Eliza. “Betsey—”

Eliza shook her head. “No, no, I…” She breathed in deeply. “Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice growing low, as it always did when Eliza became angry.

“I don’t know,” I answered, and it was the truth. “Eliza, my darling, dear wife, I miss you.” I hated that my voice cracked at the end.

“I stayed, Alexander,” Eliza responded through gritted teeth. “What more can I give you? I could’ve gone up to Albany, stayed at my father’s, even _divorced you,_ but I didn’t.”

Before I could respond, Eliza shook her head, scurrying to the door. “I came here to ask a question, and I’ve received my answer. Good day, Alexander.”

I opened my mouth to respond, to say something, _anything,_ but Eliza had already left the room.

For a long moment, I did nothing. Then, with great reluctance, I walked to my desk, picking up my quill and retrieving a piece of parchment.

Work, especially the unending flow of it, at the very least, was reliable, if nothing else was.

On February first, seventeen ninety three, France declared war against England, Holland, and Spain, fighting for their own independence.

Roughly a month later, in late March— after the investigation on me was through and my name cleared— news came to America.

The French had beheaded their king, Louis Capet, who had been stripped of all of his titles. News came that people stole hair from his head, played in his blood, and cheered in the streets.

And, of course, Jefferson and his faction of fools supported France’s fight for independence, if it could even be called that.

“Do you think war will come here?” Eliza asked me one day, her voice low and quiet. “Will they expect us to choose a side?” I watched as Eliza’s eyes widened and I longed to comfort her.

Instead, I shook my head. “Don’t worry yourself, my dear. I’ll fight against this.” I tentatively patted Eliza’s hand. “I promise.”

Eliza looked up at me, her eyes wide, and I retracted my hand, only somewhat disappointed. I wondered what else I had expected.

“Have a nice day, Eliza.” I nodded my head and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind me.

I would fight anyone who disagreed with me on this. I had promised Eliza that, and I had already broken enough promises to her.

On April nineteenth, I did exactly that. Washington called a cabinet meeting, asking us to discuss the prospect of how America would go about declaring neutrality.

Jefferson spoke first. “Your Excellency, I say we stall making a direct statement for neutrality.” I narrowed my eyes as Jefferson continued. “Why not make the other countries _bid_ for our neutrality?” 

Washington hummed, and I tightened my hold on my quill, standing up as Jefferson sat down. “Cabinet, you must be aware but now that American neutrality is _not_ negotiable,” I began. “We are in no place to interfere in France’s trivial fight with Great Britain. We’re not strong enough to enter another fight, for one.”

Before I could continue, Jefferson interjected. “That would essentially be suspending the treaties we made with France in seventeen seventy eight. Remember those, Secretary Hamilton?”

I rolled my eyes, clearing my throat. “Secretary Jefferson, need I remind you that France only entered and helped us in our war to weaken Great Britain. They weren’t being magnanimous, they were doing the smart thing politically. As well as that, they killed their ruler. In doing so, they’ve traded one government for another, which, need I remind _you,_ renders all previous treaties and the like as null and void.”

Jefferson glared at me, shaking his head. “Well, if we are to declare ourselves neutral, should we coldly welcome the France ambassador then?”

I shook my head. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that there needn’t be a huge celebration, lest it commit us to the French cause.”

There was silence, for a long moment, as Jefferson and I simply glowered at each other. Then, finally, Washington stood up.

“Gentlemen, I agree with Secretary Hamilton. We must declare ourselves neutral _now.”_ I couldn’t help my grin, watching as Jefferson pursed his lips together.

“However,” Washington continued, holding out a hand, “I agree with Secretary Jefferson on the prospect of celebrating the French ambassador.”

I puffed out a breath through my nose, but I wasn’t overly displeased. 

Taking into consideration today’s events, I knew that Jefferson may have won a battle, but I’d won the war.

“Whereas it appears that a state of war exists between Austria, Prussia, Sardinia, Great-Britain, and the United Netherlands, of the one part, and France on the other, and the duty and interest of the United States require, that they should with sincerity and good faith adopt and pursue a conduct friendly and impartial toward the belligerent powers.”

Excerpt of America’s Neutrality Proclamation concerning France’s wars, 04/22/1793

On May sixteenth, seventeen ninety three, Edmond-Charles Genêt, France’s new minister to America, arrived in Philadelphia to many celebrations.

Guns were fired, and our two countries’ flags were hung together all around the city for all to see. Personally, despite never having actually met Genêt, I already disliked the man.

Upon his earlier arrival in South Carolina, Genêt called upon privateers to prey on British shipments in American ports.

Not exactly the most diplomatic route to take.

Of course, not everyone in America welcomed Genêt with as open arms as the Democratic-Republicans did.

Many others feared that once Europe squashed the French’s republic, ours would be next. Others feared that what was occurring in France would come to our shores.

On June fifth, Genêt’s actions already called for government interference. Jefferson, likely with great reluctance, was forced to order Genêt to cease outfitting privateers and dragooning American citizens to serve for them.

But, of course, I had other things to worry about. Starting on June twenty ninth, I began writing essays under the alias “Pacificus”, defending America’s neutrality stance.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that I wasn’t keen on thinking about Genêt and his incompetence, I had no choice, when, on July sixth, Genêt went behind Washington’s back, who was in Mount Vernon, and told the Pennsylvania Secretary, Alexander J. Dallas, that he didn’t accept America’s claim of neutrality. Apparently, he planned to ask the people of America for their assistance in rigging French privateers in American ports.

As a consequence, on July eighth, Jefferson, Secretary of War Henry Knox, and I convened at the State House to discuss Genêt and the British ship, the _Little Sarah,_ that he had essentially stolen.

“Well, to begin, Washington has already ruled that privateers armed in American ports should be stopped by force or seized,” I began. “So, I feel it is necessary to say this, we already know what must be done.”

Knox nodded. “Hamilton is correct. We can’t allow the ship to escape.” He hummed, unrolling a map, and I was hit with a memory from so long ago, of Knox in a council of war.

I pushed the thought away, redirecting my thoughts to the map that Knox had pulled out. “I say we post guns and militia men at Mud Island—”

“Effectively keeping them from escaping,” I finished, and Knox nodded.

Both Knox and I turned to look at Jefferson, who had remained silent. “Well…” Jefferson looked down at the map thoughtfully. “I say we deal with the members, not the ship. They are Americans, after all, and have defied the neutrality proclamation. And, although he didn’t promise anything, Genêt told me that the ship wouldn’t leave. At least not before Washington returns.”

I rolled my eyes. “How can we trust Genêt? When has he _ever_ proven himself to be trustworthy?” I quirked an eyebrow at Jefferson. “Are you sure you aren’t biased, Secretary?”

Jefferson’s eyes narrowed, but, before he could respond, Knox stepped between us. “Gentlemen, Gentlemen, please.”

I stepped back, turning back to the map indignantly.

“The Secretary of the Treasury and the Secretary of war are of opinion that it is expedient that immediate measures should be taken provisionally for establishing a battery on Mud island, under cover of a party of militia, with direction that if the brig Sarah should attempt to depart before the pleasure of the President shall be known concerning her, military coercion be employed to arrest and prevent her progress.”

Excerpt of Cabinet Opinions on the _Little Sarah,_ 07/08/1793

In the end, Jefferson was _technically_ right. Washington returned to Philadelphia on July eleventh, and, the next day, Genêt left Philadelphia.

Immediately, I proposed that the French government recall Genêt. 

Not even Jefferson dared to disagree.

In Philadelphia, Yellow Fever ran rampant. So, it really shouldn’t have been surprising when, by early August, six of my clerks were ill with it.

I, foolishly, believed that I would not succumb to the illness. I was proven wrong on September fifth.

I was sitting in my home office, writing, when Eliza entered the room. “Yes, Eliza?” I asked, barely looking up from my writing. It wasn’t as if Eliza wanted to see me, and I could barely focus on my work over the pounding in my head, much less the distraction that was Eliza’s presence.

“Alexander, I was just checking up on you,” Eliza said. And, despite the softness of her tone, I winced.

Eliza furrowed her eyebrows, taking a step towards me. “Alexander?” I squeezed my eyes shut, and, when I opened them, Eliza was close enough to touch.

I almost jumped out of my seat when Eliza pressed the back of her hand to my forehead. Immediately, Eliza stepped back.

“You have a fever,” Eliza said, her voice taught in horror, and only then did the grander implications of what Eliza meant come to me.

“Oh,” I gasped, looking down at my hands.

“I… I’ll be right back,” Eliza said, hovering before my desk for but a moment before she turned and hurried away.

I slumped back in my chair.

About an hour later, Eliza and I were in one carriage, the children in another, heading to Fair Hill, a home we were renting, owned by the merchant Joseph Norris.

The children would be in one house, and Eliza and I would be quarantined in another. As soon as we arrived and the children had gone inside, Eliza steadied me as we walked up the steps to the house.

“I’m so sorry, Betsey,” I mumbled, pressing my face in Eliza’s neck once she’d laid me down in bed. “I love you and I wronged you. Be strong for the children. Tell them I love them.”

Eliza’s eyes widened and she shook her head, clasping my hand. “No. No. You will _not_ say your goodbyes. You aren’t going to die.”

With my little strength, I raised Eliza’s hand to my lips. “My darling Betsey, you truly are the best of wives and best of women.”

The realization hit me like a slap to the face. Why hadn’t I ever told Eliza that? Why hadn’t I ever expressed to her exactly how perfect she was?

Eliza choked down a sob, kissing my head. “You be quiet, Alexander Hamilton. You understand me?”

I wanted to nod, but my vision was growing fuzzy. I breathed in deeply, squeezing Eliza’s hand.

I wondered what the afterlife was like. Would my mother be there? Would John be there? Maybe I’d finally see my John again… 

I only wished that Eliza would muster the strength to go on without me.

I’d miss her.

_It was hot. Sweltering, really. I opened my eyes and I was back on that sickbed in St. Croix. Except, this time, I was obviously much older._

_John sat beside me, as well as my mother. God, it was so hot. I clasped John’s hand, but he remained unresponsive._

_Right. John was dead. Just like everyone else… Except Eliza. But she might as well have been, for how respondent she was to me._

_I had broken her heart, and now she hated me._

_A shiver ran down my spine, and I felt something damp press down on my forehead, followed by a woman’s voice._

_It sounded so like my dear, darling Eliza…_

_I wanted Eliza._

I had survived the night. Unfortunately, within about a day, Eliza was sick as well, and had crawled into bed beside me.

This whole experience was so similar yet so different from the illness that I’d almost succumbed to all those years ago.

I wondered if this was it. Was I to have survived everything else— a hurricane, a flaming ship, a war— only to be bested by a measly illness?

“The children,” I croaked out. 

Eliza shook her head, curling her body tightly against mine. “They’ve been sent to my father’s.” She breathed in deeply. “I’ve sent for a doctor.”

I nodded, pressing a light kiss to Eliza’s temple. “I’m so sorry, Eliza. I never did deserve you, or your kindness.”

I turned over, with much difficulty, and brushed my lips against Eliza’s. “Betsey, you are everything I ever wanted but didn’t deserve.”

Eliza shook her head, raising her arms around my waist. “Don’t you dare say your goodbyes.” She pressed her lips to mine, and I tried to memorize the feel of her lips against mine. “I love you, my Alexander.”

Oh, how long had it been since I’d heard those words from Eliza? I nearly sobbed, kissing Eliza once more.

“I love you, Eliza.”

The doctor arrived that evening. 

Eliza and I had, rather miraculously, gathered the strength to sit up, allowing us a full view of the doctor sent to cure us.

“Ned?” I gasped, coming face to face with my old friend Ned Stevens, who I hadn’t seen in quite some time at that point.

Ned grinned. “Alexander, it’s good to see you again. Mrs. Hamilton.” Ned nodded at Eliza. “I wish I could say I’ve heard so much about you, but our dear Hamilton never writes me.”

Right as Eliza opened her mouth to respond, she doubled over, heaving over the chamber pot we’d set beside the bed.

Ned’s smile immediately dropped and he turned around in the room, nodding his head. “I will be right back. I will fetch you water for a bath.”

Ned left the room and Eliza turned to look at me, her expression skeptical. “Is he to be trusted?”

I nodded. “Oh, yes. I know Ned.” I swallowed heavily, pushing back the memories I didn’t want to think of. “His family took me in after my cousin died.”

Eliza nodded, clasping my hand.

Ned returned some time later, drawing us an ice cold bath, which we sat in. “I’ll give you privacy.” Ned hovered for a moment before exiting the room.

For a long while, neither I or Eliza spoke. Instead, we simply sat in the tub, enjoying the cool water on our warm skin.

Then, finally, Eliza breathed in shallowly. “Why did you tell me?” she asked, and I startled slightly.

“Tell you what?”

Eliza shook her head, but she didn’t move from where she sat between my legs, her head resting against my chest. “About Mrs. Reynolds.”

My breath caught in my throat and I pressed a soft kiss to the back of Eliza’s neck. If we were both to die…

“I told you because I realized that it was better that you found out from me rather than someone else.” I took a deep breath, rubbing circles into Eliza’s shoulder. “I would rather you find out in private.”

I brushed my lips over the back of Eliza’s neck. “I know you don’t believe me, but I love you so much, my sweet Betsey.”

Eliza turned her head and captured my lips with hers. I sighed into it, cupping Eliza’s waist. When we pulled apart, Eliza rested her face in the crook of my neck.

“Once we’ve been cured, we are going to discuss this,” Eliza whispered, looking up at me. “Do you hear me?”

I nodded, cupping Eliza’s cheek and kissing her once more. “I do, Eliza. I do.”

About an hour later, Ned called us from the bath and gave us brandy, topped with burned cinnamon. As we settled down to sleep, he gave us laudanum.

Ned, it turned out, used vastly different methods to cure Yellow Fever than other doctors.

Instead of bloodletting and bowel purges, he used cold baths, Peruvian bark, brandy, and laudanum. Yet, despite his less than orthodox methods, one thing was clear: he had saved Eliza and I.

“I am truly glad my Dear Madam to hear Colo. Hamilton is better to day. You have my prayers and warmest wishes for his recovery. I hope you take care of yourself as you know it is necessary for your family.”

Excerpt of a letter from Martha Washington to Elizabeth Hamilton, 09/09/1793

Immediately upon being declared cured, on September fifteenth, Eliza and I headed up to Albany to rejoin our children.

We packed only new clothes, and, that day, we called upon a coach to Albany, eager to reunite with our children.

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to us, on the twenty first of September, The Albany Common Council passed a resolution, declaring that anyone from Philadelphia would not be allowed within the city’s limits.

Two days later, we arrived at the river across from Albany.

Unfortunately, Eliza and I were not allowed to cross that river and enter Albany. Despite that, Eliza and I were determined to reunite with our children. 

On the twenty fifth, Eliza and I were evaluated by a myriad of physicians— including Samuel Stringer, the Schuyler family’s personal doctor— and were, thankfully, declared well enough to enter, as long as we left any servants behind.

And, after so many trials, Eliza and I were finally one step closer to reuniting our family. 

With _The Pastures_ in sight, I watched as Eliza let out a breath, dropping her shoulders. 

“Do you think the children will be fine?” Eliza asked, her eyes never straying far from her family’s home in the distance.

I nodded my head. “I’m sure of it, Eliza.” I breathed in shallowly, my chest suddenly feeling tight. Because, obviously, I didn’t _know_ if the children were truly alright.

Eliza nodded stiffly, closing her eyes and resting her head against the wall of the coach. I longed to hold her to me as I had when we’d been ill, but Eliza had pulled away from me again, curling into herself.

I missed kissing her, I missed holding her, I missed _her._ It seemed that I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed our little intimacies until I’d had a chance to re-experience them.

I was broken from my thoughts by the carriage jolting to an abrupt stop. Immediately, Eliza practically threw herself out of the carriage, myself in tow.

Eliza quickly knocked on the door, and, after a moment, a servant girl opened the door. “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton.” She stepped aside. “Your children and the family are all in the parlor.”

Eliza and I nodded, hurrying into the hallway. Eliza quickly threw open the door, and the children shot up, flying to our sides.

“Papa!” Alex exclaimed, launching himself into my arms.

“My boy,” I mumbled, pressing kisses to my son, my _healthy_ son’s, hair. “Did you miss us?”

Alex and the other children nodded. “We worried that you…” Anne trailed off, and I smiled, running my hand over her cheek. 

“There’s no need for you to worry, daughter. We are here and we are safe.” Anne sniffled, and I pulled her into my arms. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“Did you watch out for your siblings as asked?” I heard Eliza ask Philip, her voice soft and barely discernible over the din of voices.

Philip nodded his head with vigor. “Oh, yes, Mama.”

Eliza cupped his cheek, her lips just slightly upturned at the corners. “My brave, big boy.”

My eyebrows furrowed, but I tucked the thought away to consider later. Instead, I turned my attention to Peggy and her daughter, Catherine, who were watching us.

“I’m glad to see that you’re both quite recovered,” Peggy said, and I stood up, nodding at her. “We were very worried.”

I placed a hand over my chest. “Were you now, Peggy? I’m quite touched. Truly.”

Peggy rolled her brown eyes, and her little Catherine looked up at me. “I’m very glad you and Aunt Hamilton are okay. Mama prayed for you every night,” she whispered.

I leaned down to squeeze Catherine’s cheek. “Well, you can tell your Mama that she fretted for nothing. We are fine.”

Catherine nodded, and I turned around just in time to see Eliza look away from me. Silently, I amended my statement from before.

_Physically, we are fine._

That night, as Eliza and I readied ourselves for bed in silence, I finally gathered the courage to speak. “Why did you ask Philip to watch over the other children?”

Eliza froze. After a moment, she set her hairbrush down on her vanity and turned to me. “After Doctor Stevens arrived, once you’d fallen asleep, I asked him to save you, if he could only save one of us.”

My head spun as Eliza continued. “Of course, by the grace of the Lord, we are both alive and well. But…”

I took a tentative step forward, dropping to my knees at Eliza’s feet. “Eliza, why… what makes you think that I could live without you?”

Eliza shrugged, her gaze never meeting mine. “Evidently, you don’t need me for anything but to bear children to carry on your name.” I flinched. “Sorry,” Eliza said under her breath.

I shook my head. “Do you hate me?” I blurted out, taking petty satisfaction in the way Eliza reeled back, her eyes wide.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Eliza.” I squared my shoulders as if preparing myself for battle. “If you would like a divorce, I shan’t stop you.” 

Only then did I notice the tears that were steadily trickling down my cheeks.

When I finally mustered the courage to look at Eliza, her gaze was firmly on the wall behind me, giving me the answer I needed but dreaded.

“Alright,” I answered, standing up. What did I care? She was going to leave me, just like everyone else had. I had seen this coming. 

“I’m going for a walk,” I said, thankful that I hadn’t undressed yet. I grabbed my coat and hurried out of the room.

I supposed that some people were just destined to be alone.

When I re-entered the Schuyler’s home about an hour later, I was surprised to see a dim, flickering light of a candle under mine and Eliza’s bedroom door.

When I opened the door, I was greeted with the sight of Eliza pacing back and forth across the room. Only once I’d shut the door behind me did she turn her attention to me.

“Alexander!” Before I could register anything, Eliza flew into my arms, leaving my own arms suspended in mid air.

Finally, Eliza pulled away from me. “I do hate you sometimes. Sometimes I truly wonder if I hate you as much as I ever loved you.” 

I opened my mouth to speak, but Eliza held out a hand. “I don’t want to divorce you. I… I do love you.” Eliza laughed. “However much of a fool that makes me into.”

I didn’t say anything, and Eliza slowly intertwined her arms around my waist. “This isn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But… it’s a beginning.” 

I nodded. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Eliza shook her head. “That’s for me to decide.”

And, slowly, Eliza leaned up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to mine.

I pulled her tighter to me.

On October twenty sixth, Eliza and I returned to Philadelphia. Soon after, in December, all of our children returned to us, excluding Anne who stayed in Albany until January.

However, despite many of the misfortunes that occurred in seventeen ninety three, the year, at least, ended with good news. Joyous news, really.

For on December thirty first, seventeen ninety three, Thomas Jefferson resigned from his position as Secretary of State.

In April of seventeen ninety four, I was nominated to be a special envoy to England by other Federalists, Washington himself agreeing with the suggestion.

“You won’t accept it, will you?” Eliza asked me one afternoon, still so close yet so far away. “Right?”

I shook my head. “Of course not, Eliza. Not only do I like it here, I…” I lowered my voice. “I fear that Washington may be corrupted in my absence.”

Eliza furrowed her eyebrows together. “Whatever do you mean? Jefferson has resigned.”

I nodded concedingly. “Yes, you are correct. And thank the good Lord for that fact. But, I hate to say it, there are corrupting influences everywhere, my dear.”

“Who do you recommend, then?” Eliza asked.

“John Jay,” I answered. I knew John Jay, and I truly believed that he would be the best choice for the envoy position.

Eliza hummed. “Well, pray remember to take care of your own health.” Eliza tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We wouldn’t wish for you to become ill again.”

I nodded. “Of course, Betsey.”

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. Until, finally, Eliza pointedly cleared her throat. “Well…” She huffed, and, after dropping a swift kiss to the top of my head, exited the room.

A few days later, on April fourteenth, I wrote to Washington, successfully removing myself from even being considered for the position as envoy to England.

With that, I set my sights on successfully getting Jay chosen for the position as envoy to England.

My efforts were not in vain, as, on May twelfth, seventeen ninety four, John Jay set sail for England to smoothe over relations between the two countries, and to, hopefully, prevent war.

A few weeks later, late one night, while I was working in my home office, I was interrupted by a knock at my office door.

I looked up right as the door opened, revealing Eliza, who shyly entered the room, holding a candle before her, the flickering light beautifully illuminating her sweet face.

“Eliza, what is it?” I asked, setting my quill down. I waited for an answer that did not come. Instead, Eliza closed the door behind her, stepping towards me.

“Alexander,” Eliza said, setting the candle down on my desk. “Why are you still working?”

“Because there is work to be done, my angel.” I looked up into Eliza’s dark eyes, which I couldn’t seem to read. “Why?”

“Do you think I’m beautiful?” she asked, and I startled.

“What?”

Eliza rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’m beautiful?” 

I swallowed heavily, suddenly feeling much too hot. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Eliza nodded slowly, as if carefully considering my words. “Then why haven’t you asked me to come to bed with you?” At my confused expression, Eliza groaned. “As man and wife do.”

My eyes widened. “Oh. I…” I looked up at Eliza, who, I realized, looked almost shy. “Well, I was waiting for you to ask me. I… I didn’t think you wanted me, after all you said.”

Eliza winced, but she continued towards me, slowly, _so slowly,_ until she was beside me, her lip between her teeth. “I must admit, I wasn’t going to do this tonight.” She breathed in deeply. “But I miss you, and I want you.”

I blinked slowly, rubbing my temples. “Are you sure? I… You haven’t seemed to want me. I will wait for you.” I hesitatingly cupped Eliza’s cheek. “I will wait however long you need.”

Eliza’s face softened, and she nodded, catching my hand right as I began to pull away. “I know. But I want you. Now. Tonight. I’m tired of withholding pleasure from myself out of a desire to punish you.”

Eliza inhaled deeply, straightening her shoulders, as if what she was about to say was physically paining her. “I still haven’t forgiven you yet. But I want you. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Betsey…” I stood up, pulling Eliza to me. “I will _always_ have you. I always want you.”

Eliza smiled softly, pressing her lips against mine, wrapping her arms around my neck. I sighed contentedly, reluctantly pulling away after a long moment.

“Should we take this to our bedroom?” I whispered into Eliza’s ear, grinning as I felt her shiver. Slowly, Eliza nodded, and I led her to the bedroom, my hands shaking all the while.

Once I’d laid Eliza down on the bed, I cautiously pressed our lips together. “Are you sure, my love?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. “Please, Alexander.”

I didn’t need any more prompting.

I hadn’t expected anything to seriously come from mine and Eliza’s night together, but, in July, when Eliza was preparing to leave home and spend a few weeks in Albany, I was proven wrong.

“Alexander.” Eliza approached me, kissing my cheek. “May we talk?” Her eyes flitted around at the children. “Alone?”

I frowned, but Eliza appeared anxious— desperate even— to speak to me, so I nodded, leading her upstairs to my office.

Once we’d entered my office, the door shut behind us, Eliza turned around to face me, her hands balled into fists.

“Eliza?” I asked, stepping towards her and cautiously taking her small, soft hands. “Whatever is wrong, my love?”

Eliza breathed in shallowly, resting her head against my chest. And, in a small tiny voice, she whispered, “I’m with child.”

I nearly stumbled back in shock, yet I almost didn’t realize it over my own silent jubilation. Another child… Unfortunately, when I looked down at Eliza, she seemed almost frightened.

“Oh, Eliza,” I gasped, kissing her deeply, my hands going to the small swell that was my Eliza’s stomach. “I love you.”

As soon as I spoke those words, it seemed Eliza relaxed, and she leaned up to throw her arms around my neck. “Thank the lord, I… I was worried you wouldn’t be pleased.”

I shook my head, cupping Eliza’s cheek. “However could I not be pleased?” I laughed. “I’ll always be pleased to have children, especially when it’s with you, my darling, darling Betsey.”

Eliza rolled her eyes, but she was smiling nonetheless. “I wanted to tell you before I left.” She ran a hand through the stray wisps of hair framing my face. “I love you.”

I smiled softly, kissing the tip of Eliza’s nose. “And I you. I promise you this, my dear, I will be there throughout this entire period of time. I promise.”

Unfortunately, that was a promise I was unable to keep. As, on August first, there was an uprising in Pittsburg over the whiskey tax I’d implemented in July of seventeen ninety one.

Soon, it became apparent that organized military force would be necessary to fight this, and, on September thirtieth, Washington and I left to join the troops in western Pennsylvania.

On October fourth, we arrived in Carlisle, Pennsylvania to join the troops. As we arrived, myself beside Washington, I couldn’t help a keen feeling of déjà vu.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted by our army, an impressive force of twelve thousand. Unfortunately, while the troops were in order, supplies were not.

The shipments of ammunition and supplies had yet to arrive, and I found myself marching to the man responsible, anger bubbling within me.

“What is the meaning of this?” I asked, watching as the man responsible seemed to curl into himself, holding out his hands. “For heavens sake, send forward a man that can be depended upon each route to hasten them.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighing deeply. “My expectations have been egregiously disappointed.”

The man nodded. “Yes… yes, sir,” he stammered, and I watched him go, still incredibly furious.

I exhaled deeply, rubbing my hands over my face. And, before I could register it, I felt as if I’d been thrust back into the late seventeen seventies, when I’d then also fought under Washington, scolding people then, too.

Of course, that was a very different time. I shook my head, breaking myself from the thoughts and heading to Washington’s tent.

When I entered the tent, I immediately froze, seeing that Washington wasn’t alone. Before him were a few men.

“Ah, you must be Colonel Hamilton,” One of the men said, gesturing to me and smiling. “Come, come.”

I glanced at Washington, who gave a subtle nod, and I did as asked, stepping into the tent, my hands clasped behind my back.

“Right,” Another man, a man I recognized as Congressman William Findley, spoke up. “We are here to beg that you two turn back.”

Indignation bubbled within me, but I simply puffed out a breath, allowing Findley to continue. “The people in the west country will submit to the excise tax without coercion. So, you can see, this is very unnecessary.”

Washington simply shrugged, unconvinced, much to my immense relief. “If no shots are fired at our troops, no force will be used.” Washington held up a finger. “However, I still won’t desist.”

Findley rubbed his temples. “There is a man in this area who is supposedly restoring order. With all due respect, this is folly.”

I spoke up before Washington could. “Then that man, if he is met with, shall be skewered, shot, or hanged on the first tree.”

Findley and the others sighed deeply, rolling their eyes. “Fine. I suppose we can’t deter you, can we?”

Both Washington and I shook our heads and the men retreated with great reluctance.

We found ourselves without a battle to fight in for some time. Regardless, neither Washington nor myself were idle.

Often, I found myself walking around the camp at night, patrolling and making certain that all of the men were doing their jobs correctly, or at all.

Yet, despite the fact that I was never without something to distract my racing mind, I still worried over Eliza.

Mainly because I had always been there, for the most part that is, for all of Eliza’s pregnancies. Logically, I knew that I was just over one hundred miles away, and I had been farther, but I still worried and longed for my sweet wife.

I was broken from my thoughts by the soft sound of singing. My hand immediately flew to my pistol and I cautiously approached the noise.

Luckily, it was only a sentinel. A sentinel that was sitting and whose musket was a little ways away, out of his reach.

“Excuse me.” I cleared my throat and the sentinel— who didn’t look older than seventeen— jumped up, stumbling slightly. 

“Colonel Hamilton! I—”

I held out a hand. “Whatever do you think you’re doing?” I raised an eyebrow when the sentinel remained utterly silent. “Well? You are a soldier. This is an important job.”

The sentinel groaned. “Being a soldier is so _hard.”_ I rolled my eyes. He didn’t even know the _half_ of it. “My father made me enlist. This wasn’t my choice. I want to go home.”

It quickly became apparent to me that the boy was not going to step up, so I walked past him, shouldering his musket.

Must I do everything myself?

From the corner of my eye, I could see the boy watching me with wide eyes, his gaze following me as I paced back and forth, back and forth.

I stayed that way until the next sentinel arrived for his shift. 

Thankfully, he was much more competent than the sentinel that had preceded him.

As I walked back to my tent that night, I reminded myself that everything would be just fine; Eliza, the army, and myself would all be fine.

For now, all I needed to focus on was keeping order in tact and remaining level headed. I had done it almost twenty years before for roughly five years.

I could surely do it again.

In late October, Washington returned to Philadelphia, leaving the Governor of Virginia, Henry Lee, and I in charge of the army.

So, with great excitement on my part, we prepared the men to fight, as well as interviewing suspects and getting the answers we needed.

Of course, the Democratic-Republican press had gone ballistic at my being left in charge of a sector of the army, but there wasn’t much they could do about it.

Besides, I had long since learned to ignore the rampant idiocy of the Democratic-Republican press. I was better for mine— and everyone else’s— health if they did as well.

So I pushed on, distracting myself with interrogations and working, barely finding time to write to Eliza in between everything else.

It seemed that I hadn’t the time for anything that wasn’t writing, working, or patrolling. But, despite the hardships, I _liked_ the army.

I liked the rush of adrenaline, the knowledge I was really doing something good. And, although not always welcomed, it brought back memories of a much simpler time.

A time when the idea of forming and running a country was a distant— but hoped and prayed for— prospect.

I often traded war stories with other soldiers, hearing the names of many of my former comrades, and, when I happened to hear a certain name, I managed to not fall apart.

Despite how much I loved the army, even I grew tired of it, longing for my wife, for home, for my children.

So, on November nineteenth, I left Pittsburgh— where the army had moved— setting out for Philadelphia.

It was while I was on my way, riding as fast as I dared, that I received the letter from Henry Knox.

_Among other reasons for wishing your return is Mrs Hamiltons earnest desire. It seems that she has had, or has been in danger of a miscarriage._

My chest tightened and I found myself jumping onto my horse, setting off for Philadelphia, pushing the horse to go as fast as it would go.

I arrived in Philadelphia on the twenty fifth of November, rushing into my house and immediately being greeted by Ned Stevens.

I grabbed Ned by the shoulders. “Where is Eliza? Is she alive? She is, right?” I wasn’t sure that I could go on if Eliza had… 

I didn’t allow myself to finish that thought.

“Breathe, Alexander,” Ned ordered, pouring me a glass of apple brandy, which I quickly drained. “She is alive, and currently sleeping in bed.” I almost cried in relief.

However, Ned wasn’t done speaking.

“The baby, on the other hand…” My head shot up, and I looked at Ned with wide eyes.

“No. No. I… no.” Ned simply looked at me with remorse and my heart dropped. “Oh god.” I buried my face in my hands.

For a long moment, neither Ned nor I spoke. Until, finally, Ned grabbed my shoulder. “Go on. Mrs. Hamilton has been calling for you in her sleep. Mourn with her, not alone.” Ned inhaled shakily. “You can’t always bear your sorrows alone, especially if it is not only yours.”

I nodded, standing up with shaking legs. I offered Ned a weak smile, likely more of a grimace, as I made my way up the stairs to mine and Eliza’s room.

I cautiously opened the door, revealing a maid, a bucket of red soaked water and towels balanced on her hip.

“Secretary Hamilton,” she said in lieu of a proper greeting, slipping past me and closing the door behind her. I didn’t say anything, stumbling to Eliza.

Eliza, who looked so peaceful, and I finally felt myself begin to cry as I took her small hand in my own.

“Eliza, I… I’m so sorry,” I choked out, pressing my lips to the palm of Eliza’s hand, my own hands shaking so hard I could barely keep a hold of hers.

“I failed you.” How many times now had I failed Eliza? How many times had I wronged her? Perhaps if I’d stayed, our baby would still be alive.

Perhaps…

“Alexander,” Eliza said softly, her eyes fluttering open and her gaze finding mine. She slowly smiled. “Alexander.”

“Betsey,” I breathed, kissing her hand once more. “How are you, my angel?”

Eliza’s face dropped as she seemed to remember what had happened. “The baby… where’s my baby?” she asked, her voice cracking painfully at the end.

“She’s in heaven with the angels,” I replied, and I couldn’t help sobbing m. “I’m so sorry, my beloved Eliza. As soon as I heard, I pushed myself to get here, but I was too late…”

 _I was too late._

Wasn’t I always too late?

Too late to realize my mother was seriously ill, too late to stop Peter from aiming a gun at his own head, too late to save John.

Now, I was too late to save my baby, or, at the very least, too late to be there for Eliza.

I was always _too late._

“But you’re here now,” Eliza interrupted my rapidly spiraling thoughts. “And I forgive you. For this, for everything.”

I let out a choked sob, more tears slipping down my cheeks. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Eliza, but I will earn it,” I said, resolve building within me.

Eliza raised an eyebrow. “You already have my forgiveness, but whatever do you have in mind?”

I squeezed Eliza’s hand, intertwining our fingers. “I’m resigning from my position as Treasury Secretary.”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Alexander—”

I shook my head. “Eliza, in truth, I’m tired. And I want to be here for you.” I rubbed my thumb gently over Eliza’s knuckles. “We can leave Philadelphia, leave behind all of the bad memories—” Eliza winced, “— and go back to New York.”

Eliza’s eyes watered and she nodded. I leaned forward to gently press my lips to Eliza’s.

Even if I never worked another day in my life and dedicated all of my time to Eliza and the children, I knew that it still wouldn’t be enough to make things right, but I could certainly try.

On January thirty first, seventeen ninety five, after submitting one last paper to Congress— _Report on the Plan for the Further Support of Public Credit—_ I resigned from my position as Treasury Secretary.

“Agreeably to the intimation heretofore given I have the honor now to tender you my resignation of the office of Secretary of the Treasury…”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, 01/31/1795

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Again, I’m sorry this chapter took so long to get out. Life has been really hectic for me as of late, but this chapter is finally up! The next chapter should up by next week at the latest. And, I know I always say this, but thank you all SO MUCH for all of the comments and kudos! They make my day and are a great motivation to write. Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. All of the points that Hamilton and Jefferson make in the cabinet meeting are their actual points, though in my phrasing.  
> 2\. Yes, the debacle with Citizen Genêt was that wild. I didn’t mention it, but, after Maria Antionette was guillotined on the sixteenth of October, Hamilton urged Washington to protect Genêt, since they knew of the fatal fate that would meet him upon his return to France. Washington agreed.  
> 3\. Ned Stevens really was the doctor to cure the Hamiltons. I didn’t mention it, but Hamilton somehow managed to start a debate over what proper medical procedures to use to treat Yellow Fever, pitting Federalists (Their beliefs aligning with Stevens) and Democratic-Republicans (Their beliefs aligning with Benjamin Rush) against each other. Oh, Hamilton. Why did he do what he did?  
> 4\. Chernow says that Hamilton returned to Philadelphia on December first. He’s wrong. Hamilton arrived on the twenty fifth or twenty sixth of November.  
> 5\. Another reason I was late getting this chapter out was that I’m currently working a sequel type thing for this about the next fifty years of Eliza’s life after the duel. If you don’t mind me asking, would anyone be interested in reading it? I’d really appreciate it! Here’s a snippet:  
> “Alexander Hamilton died quietly, almost noiselessly.  
> He didn’t give one final shuddering breath before his eyes fluttered shut, nor did he give me one final tender goodbye. It was simply that one moment he was there and the next he wasn’t.  
> I only noticed when, across from me, Angelica let out a broken, mournful sob and I noticed that my Alexander— my vivacious, wonderful, amazing husband’s— hand had gone limp in mine.”  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you so very much, again, for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 24, 1795-September 1797

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_June 24, 1795, York City, New York_

On June twenty fourth, seventeen ninety five, The Treaty of Amity, Commerce, and Navigation, Between His Britannic Majesty and the United States of America— also known as the Jay Treaty— was passed by the Senate, excepting clause twelve, which was partially suspended.

The treaty aimed to resolve the lingering issues between the United States and Great Britain. Unfortunately, despite the obvious upsides to the treaty, many people still did not like it, and they came for John Jay.

They criticized Jay, they insulted him, and some even wished him dead.

The people’s hatred became so bad that it became a joke. One newspaper even declared, “Damn John Jay! Damn everyone who won’t damn John Jay! Damn everyone that won’t put lights in his windows and sit up all night damning John Jay!”

Heading all of what they said, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was _slightly_ at fault, as I was the one who had pushed for Jay to be minister to Great Britain.

Disregarding that, I personally disagreed with those who didn’t like the treaty, and, on July eighteenth, I found myself at a rally discussing the Jay Treaty.

At noon, I stepped up on a stoop right across from City Hall, many people listening to me.

I cleared my throat. “Who convened this meeting?” I yelled, and the crowd, many of them looking surly, cried back.

“Let us have a chairman!”

In the end, vice-President John Adams’ son-in-law, Colonel William Smith was chosen, and he presided from the balcony of City Hall, safely hidden from the irate crowd.

I opened my mouth to begin speaking, but Peter R. Livingston beat me, beginning to spew nonsense. Before he got far, however, I tapped his shoulder.

“Excuse me, who gave you the right to speak first?” My voice was taught, and I waited for his response.

I had felt stagnant for months now, and I was desperate for _something._

Livingston sighed. “Let the crowd vote, then.” I nodded begrudgingly, already resigning myself to waiting for Livingston to finish, as there was little confidence in my mind that I would be voted to speak first.

And, sure as the sun rose each morning, the crowd voted in favor of Livingston, and he resumed his nonsensical tirade.

Unfortunately for him, the crowd hadn’t ceased their talking and shouting long enough as to allow Livingston to speak, and he was forced to start over multiple times, struggling to be heard over the crowd.

Finally, Livingston sighed. “Perhaps we should move towards Trinity Church?” No one showed any recognition that Livingston had spoken, and I stepped up as people filtered out.

Only mildly insulted at the people’s discourtesy, I began to speak. “I say we _do_ need the Jay Treaty, and I stress the importance of a full discussion before we form an opinion.”

I doubted that anyone could hear me, as people coughed, hissed, whispered, and shouted in the crowd over me.

However, I still continued on, undeterred. I had shouted myself hoarse to be heard before— it was the reason I was where I am now— and I wouldn’t hesitate to do it once more.

Finally, I huffed out a breath. I was the previous Secretary of the Treasury and one of the reasons our Constitution was even passed into a law.

Who did these rascals think they were?

“Please,” I said, holding my hands out. “I beg of you to show me the same respect as you would any other person?”

The crowd was silent for a moment, and, before I could register anything, I felt a sharp pain in my temple, and, when I raised my hand to the spot, there was a slow trickle of blood.

There was a loud thump at my feet, and that’s when I noticed that people were throwing _stones,_ like a blood hungry rabble.

I squeezed my hands into tight fists and bowed. “If you use such knock-down arguments, I must retire.”

Furious, I began walking down the block, a few friends following behind me. Nicholas Fish, a friend, grabbed my arm.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and I shrugged his arm off of mine. 

“I’m quite alright,” I gritted out. Nicholas sighed, opening his mouth to respond, when there was a loud shout, and I turned to see two men— one of whom was a Federalist named Josiah Ogden Hoffman, who I recognized— shouting at each other.

I hurried over to the two men, both of whom looked a second away from coming to blows.

“Sirs,” I cried, holding my hands out. “This is quite unnecessary. Please, remain calm; I beg of you.”

The second one, who I then realized was James Nicholson, a man who had insulted me in the past, turned around and glared at me.

“You, you…” He gritted his teeth. “You are an abettor of Tories, and you have no right to interrupt us! Go spew your loyalist ideas elsewhere.”

My friend Nicholas placed a hand on my arm. “Alexander, let us go,” he whispered, but I stepped forward.

“Please, let us go inside,” I interrupted Hoffman and Nicholson, who had resumed shouting at each other, their words incendiary. “Let us—”

Nicholson swirled around, shoving his finger in my chest. “Go away! I don’t need to listen to you. Not only are you a fool, but you are a coward.”

My breath hitched in my throat. “I beg your pardon?” I asked, my voice low and harsh.

Nicholson shrugged, a sly smirk on his face as he spoke. “I heard that you once evaded a duel. Therefore, you are a _coward._ Now, go.”

I puffed my chest out, anger burning within me as I took a step closer to Nicholson. “No man can affirm that with truth,” I spat. “But I pledge to convince you of your mistake. Write to me of a time more convenient for you, and we shall settle this.”

Nicholson appeared somewhat shocked, but he nodded. “Alright then.”

With that, I turned around on my heel, my hands balled into tight fists. “That scoundrel,” I raved under my breath.

Nicholas hurried to keep pace with me. “What is the name of hell are you thinking?” he asked, his tone conveying his obvious exasperation. 

“I couldn’t let that stand,” I retorted, and, after walking for some time, I was desperate to return home to Eliza and my children.

However, it seemed that I wasn’t yet done, as, while walking, I passed by the door of Edward Livingston, where I saw Hoffman once more, this time engaged in a spat with Peter Livingston.

Rufus King and Edward Livingston both stepped forward, stepping between the two men. “Please,” King begged. “Let us take this elsewhere.”

Suddenly, I found myself stepping forward, anger at the wretched Democratic-Republicans overriding my common sense. “If our two parties are to contend in a personal way, I’m ready to fight the whole party _one by one.”_

Edward Livingston blinked in surprise, turning to me. “Sir, that subject is quite imprudent, and, perhaps—”

“I will fight that whole detestable faction one by one,” I declared. “I will.”

Then, Maturin Livingston, Peter Livingston’s brother, stepped up. “Well then, I shall have to take you up on that offer.” He pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it. “I’ll meet you in half an hour, wherever you wish.”

I shook my head, rubbing the back of my neck. “I already have another affair on my hands, but I will write to you soon.”

Maturin Livingston nodded stiffly. “Alright then.” 

With that, I walked home, thankfully not coming across any other altercations on my way.

“You will percieve by the inclosed that Hamilton has taken up his pen in support of the treaty. [Return it to me.] He spoke on it’s behalf in the meeting at New York, and his party carried a decision in favor of it by a small majority. But the Livingstonians appealed to stones and clubs and beat him and his party off the ground.”

Excerpt of a letter from Thomas Jefferson to James Madison, 08/03/1795

In the end, neither of the duels I’d issued came to anything, and I found myself worrying over other things.

Starting on July twenty second, seventeen ninety five, I began writing “The Defence”, a series of essays under the pseudonym “Cato”, endorsing the Jay Treaty.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that I was constantly busy, with barely little time to think of anything excepting work, tragedy still managed to creep in.

On the nineteenth of August, Eliza’s younger brother, John Bradstreet Schuyler, died and left behind his almost seven year old son, Cortlandt.

With nowhere for Bradstreet’s young son to go, Eliza and I agreed to allow him to attend school in Staten Island during the week with our boys, and on the weekends he would stay with us.

It seemed that we didn’t have enough children under our care apparently, as, on October tenth, I received a visitor.

I invited the man in, and a young boy— who couldn’t have been older than fifteen— entered my office, a taller man beside him.

“Hello, you are Alexander Hamilton, _non?”_ The boy asked in a thick French accent, shifting from foot to foot.

I frowned. “Yes, that is I. Who are you?”

The boy instantly relaxed. “I am Georges Lafayette. You fought in a war with my father?”

I nodded, a small smile coming to my face at the memory of Lafayette. “Ah, yes.” Then, I remembered. “Isn’t your father a prisoner?”

Georges nodded, tapping his fingers against his thighs. “Yes. My… I was smuggled out of France. I was told to come to you for shelter until I could go to the President’s.”

I hummed. Of course, Washington would gladly take the poor boy in, but would he be _able_ to do it was the better question.

While Lafayette was lauded as a hero in our revolution, he had been branded a traitor in France’s. So, Washington wouldn’t be able to take Georges in yet, lest he be accused of bias.

With that in mind, I nodded. “Yes. Well, you’ll stay here until the Washingtons can take you in.” I stood up. “You should come and meet my wife.”

Georges nodded, and I began to walk down the stairs to where Eliza was sitting in the parlor, a book in front of her.

“Betsey,” I greeted, pressing a kiss to Eliza’s forehead. “This is Georges Lafayette. He’ll be staying with us until the President can take him in.”

Eliza smiled sweetly, standing up and shaking Georges’ hand. “Elizabeth Hamilton. It’ll be a pleasure to have you with us.”

Georges grinned back, kissing the back of Eliza’s hand. _“Mademoiselle.”_ Eliza rolled her eyes. 

“Well, come with me. You can share with Philip and Alex…” I watched as Eliza, Georges, and his tutor walked up the stairs.

If only the Democratic-Republicans and Jacobins could see Georges; a boy who had been torn from his family because of the revolution they so lauded.

If only they could see… 

In May of seventeen ninety six, one month after Georges Lafayette left New York to go stay with the Washingtons, I received a letter from Washington which shocked me.

The letter was marked ‘Private’. In it, Washington had sent me a letter containing a rough draft of an essay, written by James Madison, declaring that Washington was stepping down, with the advice he’d leave our country.

Despite the fact that I would’ve preferred that Washington remain in office until the day he died, I knew that Washington was tired, and I knew that Washington had practically made this country.

The rest that he so longed for was long overdue.

“I can hardly believe that Washington is stepping down,” Eliza said quietly, sighing as we sat in bed together one night.

“I can,” I responded, pressing a kiss to Eliza’s temple. Washington had left me notes on what he wished to include in the Address, as well as giving me the discretion to scrap the original draft and start over completely.

“Washington is tired,” I said, sighing heavily. “I would _prefer_ him to stay in office, but I can’t stop him.” I pulled my portable writing desk onto my lap.

“He wants to talk about American neutrality, disbanding political parties, etcetera,” I said, waving my hand flippantly.

Eliza hummed thoughtfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

After a while of writing in silence, I called Eliza to me, patting the spot on the bed beside me. “Come, dear.” Eliza sat beside and I kissed her gently. “My dear Eliza, you must be to me what Molière’s old nurse was to him.”

With that, I began to read aloud what I’d written as of that moment, with Eliza listening beside me and making small altercations as I did.

And so went

“General Washington was well pleased, and in his answer to General Hamilton’s suggestion gave him the heads of the subjects on which he would wish to remark, with a request that Mr. Hamilton would prepare an address for him; Mr. Hamilton did so, and the address was written, principally at such times as his office was seldom frequented by his clients and visitors, and during the absence of his students to avoid interruption; at which times he was in the habit of calling me to sit with him, that he might read to me as he wrote, in order, as he said, to discover how it sounded upon the ear, and making the remark, “My dear Eliza, you must be to me what Molière’s old nurse was to him”.”

Elizabeth Hamilton’s Statement as to Washington’s Farewell Address, interviewed 08/07/1840

On September nineteenth, seventeen ninety six, Washington’s Farewell Address was published. It would become critically acclaimed, but of course we didn’t know that.

Eliza and I were taking down Broadway a few days later, simply enjoying the nice autumnal weather, when an elderly soldier approached us, causing Eliza to tighten her hold on my arm.

The man smiled brightly at both of us, wagging the address in his hand. “Have you two read this? You must purchase a copy; every household should have one.”

Eliza and I exchanged a look and I retrieved a few coins from my pocket, handing them to the man as he handed me the address in exchange.

“Thank you, sir,” the soldier said. “God bless you, God bless America, and God bless Washington.” The man turned around and hurried away as I turned to smile at Eliza.

“That man does not know he has asked me to purchase my own work,” I said, smiling softly. 

_God bless America, and God bless Washington, indeed._

On March fourth, seventeen ninety seven, John Adams was elected President of the United States with Jefferson as his vice-president— having beat Jefferson with seventy one electoral votes to sixty eight.

I had not backed Adams, I’d backed Timothy Pickering, and, as a result, it seemed that I’d made an enemy out of the President.

To make things worse, on April twenty sixth, Peggy’s daughter, Catherine, passed away, and Eliza, the children, and I quickly hurried to Albany to offer our condolences.

However, not all was awful. As, after over a decade, the Churches finally returned to America on May twentieth, taking up lodgings in York City.

“Eliza!” Angelica cried upon entering mine and Eliza’s home, wrapping Eliza in her arms. “Oh, how good it is to embrace you.”

Eliza nodded eagerly, cupping Angelica’s cheek. “And to think, we may hold each other every day now.”

If it was possible, Angelica smiled ever wider, kissing Eliza’s forehead and placing a hand over Eliza’s round stomach.

“I trust that you’re taking measures to preserve yourself and your baby?” Angelica asked, and Eliza rolled her eyes, placing her hand over Angelica’s.

“You needn’t worry about me, sister.” Eliza cleared her throat and Angelica turned to look at me, smiling sweetly.

“Angelica Church, it has been much too long,” I said, shaking my head. “Whatever do you have to say for yourself?”

Angelica rolled her eyes, leaning up to kiss my cheek, her lips lingering. “I’m home now.” She squeezed my arm. “So you can say nothing.”

I laughed, patting Angelica’s arm. “I suppose that I can’t say anything.”

Angelica nodded in satisfaction, stepping back and looking between Eliza and I. “Goodness, whatever shall I do?” she asked. “I can now see my two favorite people everyday.”

Eliza snickered, swatting Angelica’s arm in jest. “Don’t let Mr. Church hear you say that,” she advised. “He may decide to steal you from us again.”

Angelica’s face grew serious and she pressed her lips to Eliza’s temple. “No, Betsey. I shall never be so far from you again. I promise.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, and Eliza nodded, still tucked neatly into Angelica’s side. “We may not recover from you leaving _again.”_

Angelica rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. “Neither of you need worry. I’m afraid that Europe has grown tired of me. America, on the other hand…”

Eliza sputtered, clasping Angelica’s hand. “Trust me, Angelica, when I say that no place will ever grow tired of you.”

Angelica shrugged. “Well, even if the American people tire of me, they shall have to deal with it, as I am never leaving home again.”

Eliza beamed, tears shining in her eyes as she threw her arms around Angelica’s neck.

Unfortunately, things did not remain good and full of joy for long. That peace was disrupted in the form of a series of pamphlets, which were published in late spring and early summer of seventeen ninety seven.

In late June, written by James Callender, a Jeffersonian, _The history of the United States for 1796; including a variety of interesting particulars relative to the federal government previous to that period_ was published.

At first glance, there was nothing exceptionally abnormal in it. But, in volume five, the information it included sent shock waves through me.

“Goodness, have you read this?” Angelica asked, entering the parlor where Eliza sewed and I wrote.

“What is it?” Eliza asked, setting aside her knitting. “You seem agitated.”

Angelica appeared furious, and she seemed ready to smash something. “You haven’t read what those awful Jeffersonians are saying?” Both Eliza and I shook our heads in confusion and Angelica explained.

“Not only are they accusing our dear Hamilton of misconduct, of _speculation,_ but they have the audacity to claim him a perpetrator of infidelity.”

I stilled in my writing, and I could hear Eliza breath in shallowly, her breath hitching as she did. 

I set down my portable writing desk and grabbed the pamphlet from Angelica, skimming through it.

And, sure enough, in its pages were the letters from James Reynolds… the letters that Monroe and the others had swore to keep confidential.

“Those bastards,” I snarled under my breath, and Angelica nodded in agreement. Although, I had a distinct feeling that Angelica and I were talking about two very different people.

Eliza then stood up. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” She smiled at both of us, but I could tell that was close to tears.

I watched as Eliza left the room, and Angelica exhaled. “They’re scoundrels, they are,” she spat. “As if they have nothing better to do than to spread lies.”

I remained quiet, burying my face in my hands. I had tried _so hard_ to keep the Reynolds affair quiet, I had tried to forget about it, but here it was, coming back just at the right moment as to catch me off guard.

“Oh, Alexander,” Angelica gasped, wrapping me in her arms. “We all know that it’s all a lie. We know you would never betray Eliza.”

I laughed, but there was no joy in it. Oh, but I _had_ betrayed Eliza. And now it seemed that, once again, she was paying the price for my sins.

“The simple assurance of inability was not enough. Mr. Hamilton declares PON HIS HONOUR, that it is not merely out of his power, but UTTERLY, &c. How generous! How magnanimous this language of the ex-secretary! especially when he wrote to a being who was in the habit of threatening to bring him to disgrace.”

Excerpt of _The history of the United States for 1796,_ written by James Callender

When Angelica finally left about an hour later, I hesitantly climbed up the stairs to mine and Eliza’s room, where Eliza sat on our bed.

“Oh, Alexander,” Eliza sobbed into her hands, and I swiftly pulled her into my arms. “What are we to do?”

I breathed in deeply. “I don’t know, my love. I don’t know.” I hated not knowing what to do, and I pressed my lips to the top of Eliza’s head.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke, we simply held each other, until Eliza pulled away, wiping away her tears and keeping her hold on my hand.

“I wish to tell Angelica of the truth,” Eliza said softly, and my eyes widened. Eliza continued. “She is my sister, and I believe that she deserves the truth.”

I didn’t say anything. Until, finally, I begrudgingly nodded. “If it is what you think best, my love.” I raised Eliza’s hand to my lips. “My dear Eliza, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to go through this once more.”

Eliza shook her head. “Hush, Alexander.” She curled into my side. “I will stand by you.” 

I sighed, brushing a strand of Eliza’s hair behind her ear.

I never had been worthy of her.

A few days later, Eliza and I invited Angelica for tea. Initially, I had assumed that Eliza would tell Angelica on her own, but she had insisted that I be there, so there I sat.

“Good afternoon,” Angelica greeted, setting down her parasol and kissing mine and Eliza’s cheeks before she sat down across from us. “Thank you for having me.”

Eliza smiled. “It is our pleasure.” She took a deep breath and I watched as Angelica’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Eliza?”

Eliza held out a hand, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Angelica, Alexander and I need to confess something. And… I need you to remain calm.”

Angelica nodded slowly. “What in God’s name is going on?” she glanced between us. “You’re scaring me.”

Eliza squeezed my hand. “You know of the rumors that Alexander had an affair?” Eliza straightened her shoulders. “It’s all true.”

Angelica’s eyes widened and her gaze flitted to me. “You did what?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Angelica—” I began, but Angelica shook her head.

“No. I…” She turned to Eliza, looking genuinely hurt and betrayed, as if _she_ was the scorned wife. “Eliza, when did you find out?”

Eliza fidgeted, picking at the sleeve of her dress. “A few years ago…”

“Years?” Angelica exclaimed. “Dear god, Eliza, why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve written.”

Eliza’s shoulders dropped. “I wanted to tell you, but you were so far away, and it would do no good to anger you…”

“Then why _now?”_ Angelica demanded, humming. “Why?” Then, it seemed to dawn on her. “It’s coming out…”

She laughed joylessly and jumped up, turning to look at me. “I don’t want to see you.” Without letting either Eliza or I get a word in edgewise, she stormed out.

I jumped up to go after her, but Eliza placed a comforting hand on my arm. “Alexander, leave her be.” Eliza huffed out a breath. “She’s insulted that I didn’t tell her, so her pride is piqued, and she’s likely beyond irate with you.”

I rubbed my hands over my face. “I’m going to my office.” I hurried out of the room, already planning a response to Callender.

All those years ago, when I’d confessed my sins to Eliza, Monroe, and the others, I’d promised myself that no one would control the narrative of what had occurred between Mrs. Reynolds and I.

I was an adulterer, yes, but I was no embezzler.

On July eighth, I wrote a response, published in the _Gazette of the United States,_ declaring that, yes, the letters were mine, but the charges against me were false.

Immediately after, I wrote to the three men I’d spoken to back in December of seventeen ninety two, asking to clarify that they did believe me when I’d told them of my true crime.

Muhlenburg did believe me, as did Venable. However, Monroe declined to respond to me right away, wishing to confer with Muhlenberg and Venable.

However, luckily for me, Monroe was in New York, visiting his relatives, so, around ten in the morning on July eleventh, John Church and I found ourselves at Monroe’s door.

I knocked on the door, barely able to keep my composure. I was partially angry at Monroe for obviously being the one to break the vow of confidentiality, and partially at myself for being foolish enough to trust him to keep that promise.

Upon entering the house, I hurried to Monroe, who appeared somewhat shocked to see me. “Ah, Colonel Hamilton.” He smiled tightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?”

I puffed out my chest. “I’m sure you remember, sir, of the meeting we had some years ago?” Monroe nodded and I continued. “I had written to you and two of the other gentlemen present at the meeting. I was expecting an immediate response, especially concerning so important a subject in which my character and the peace and reputation of my family are so deeply interested.”

Before I could continue, Monroe shook his head. “If you would just be quiet a moment, I will answer you candidly.”

I breathed out heavily through my nose, nodding. 

There was a long moment of silence before I spoke up, desperate to have an answer. “I only ask if you leaked the papers I entrusted you with, or failed to guarantee their safety.”

Monroe looked insulted. “Need I remind you that my knowing of your business is purely accidental? And, to answer your question, all of your correspondence that you gave us after the meeting was sealed with a friend in Virginia.”

I barely heard the rest of Monroe’s words over the blood rushing in my ears. A friend in Virginia? It could only be Jefferson.

That lying _scoundrel._

I glared at Monroe. “This, as your reputation, is totally false!” I snapped, no longer able to contain my fury.

Monroe jumped up right as I did. “Do you say I represented falsely?” I nodded and Monroe’s face grew red. “You are a scoundrel.”

I stepped towards Monroe. “I will meet you like a gentleman.”

Monroe nodded. “I am ready, get your pistols.”

Monroe and I looked up and down at each other, still chest to chest, despite Monroe being much taller than I, when Church and Monroe’s friend, David Gelston, pulled us away from the other.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Gelston said, holding his hands out between us. “Be moderate.”

I huffed and stepped back, jerking my arm out of Church’s firm grasp. Both Monroe and I sat down and, surprisingly, Monroe spoke up first.

“I will explain what I know,” he began, “if only you would just calm down.”

I huffed and Gelston pointedly cleared his throat, interrupting whatever I might have said in response. “Colonel Hamilton, why don’t you wait until Monroe meets with Mr. Muhlenberg and Mr. Venable? I’m sure that this whole issue will be sorted out after that.”

I sighed and stood up, grabbing my coat. “Alright.” I left the house without another word, still fuming.

“Well…” Church trailed off, letting out a loud guffaw, much to the shock of the people we passed in the street. “That was quite a show.”

That evening, the Churches arrived for dinner.

Upon entering, Church gave me a curious look and Angelica immediately hurried over to me.

“Mrs. Church,” I said, pouring her a glass of wine. “We’re so glad to have you here with us tonight.”

Angelica looked quite unconvinced, taking a sip of her wine. “So, Alexander, Eliza and I spoke today while you were out.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Angelica nodded slowly, running her finger over the rim of her glass. “Yes, indeed. We did speak.”

“And whatever did you discuss?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

Angelica shook her head, waving her closed fan. “Nothing of importance.” She inhaled deeply, straightening her shoulders. “I shall stand by you and Eliza.”

I blinked in surprise. “What? Why?”

Angelica’s gaze drifted to where Eliza was talking to Church across the room. I whirled my head around to face Angelica. “Oh.”

Angelica nodded, pursing her lips. “You know how tenderly I love Eliza. And how I will do anything for her. I…” Angelica drained the rest of her glass. “She has asked me to stand by her, by you.”

I remained silent as Angelica seemed to collect her thoughts, holding her glass out for a refill. “I know you well, Alexander. I understand you. Now, I can’t quite fathom why you did what you did to my sister, but I believe Eliza when she says that you are sincere in your effusions of regret.”

Angelica closed her eyes for a moment. Only once she reopened them did I notice the tears slipping down her cheeks. 

“I saw— rather _see—_ how you look at her.” Angelica finally met my gaze, and I so wished to understand what she was thinking. “You love her.”

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “I do. More than you can possibly comprehend.”

Angelica smiled sadly. “I know.” She patted my hand. “I must confess, I wasn’t entirely shocked by this.”

I frowned. “Why?”

Angelica exhaled. “Eliza married into a family quite near the sun. You were bound to fly too close at some point or other.” As if sensing my shame, Angelica squeezed my wrist. “But then the pride, the pleasure, the nameless satisfactions, etcetera would not have been our Eliza’s, would they?”

Neither Angelica nor I spoke. I _knew_ that I had grievously hurt Eliza, and I had known when we’d first met that I’d hurt her, but I had selfishly drug her along with me anyways.

“Eliza knows the penalties attending so amiable a man,” Angelica interrupted my thoughts. “She knows what she’s doing by standing by you, but she’s choosing to stand by you regardless.” Angelica looked right into my eyes as she spoke. “So I beg of you to _never_ hurt my sister again and to never forget that you have been blessed with the best wife one could ask for.”

“Best of wives and best of women,” I whispered under my breath. 

Angelica brushed her lips over my cheek. “We all love you, Alexander, but none more than Eliza. It will do you well to remember that.”

I watched Angelica walk towards Eliza and wrap her arm around her waist as I ruminated on Angelica’s words.

Over the next few weeks, I responded to open letters from Callender, and Monroe and I exchanged more and more letters as I contemplated what to do about the speculation charges against me.

I knew one thing: I had to do _something;_ I couldn’t just let those Decomcratic-Republican _scoundrels_ spew such lies about me.

I had committed a sin, yes, but not the one so many people were trying to claim I had. I was many things, but an embezzler wasn’t one of them.

That was when I realized what needed to be done. And, on July thirty first, the first advertisement for the pamphlet I was writing appeared in the _Gazette of the United States._

I knew then what I’d do. I’d do what I did best: I’d write.

I had written by way out of Nevis, and I could write my way out of this. I would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Then they’d have nothing.

As I wrote and edited my pamphlet, on August fourth, seventeen ninety seven, Eliza gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named William Stephen Hamilton.

While Eliza was healing from the pregnancy, I approached her with my plan, as she was now safe, as was the baby.

I entered our bedroom, immediately taking my son in my arms, running my fingers through his curls. My beautiful son.

William stirred in his sleep and Eliza awoke right as William let out a small wail. I handed William off to Eliza, who began to nurse him.

“Alexander,” Eliza greeted, and I sat down beside our bed, taking Eliza’s hand. 

“My darling.” I smiled nervously, kissing Eliza’s palm and holding it to my face. “I need to speak with you.”

The small smile that had adorned Eliza’s face disappeared and she looked away from me. “Yes. I assumed…” She shook her head. “Well, what do you wish to discuss with me?”

I ran my thumb over Eliza’s knuckles. “I trust that you’ve seen the advertisements in the papers for my new pamphlet?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes, I have.”

I continued on. “I… I feel I should tell you what it will include.” I breathed in deeply, reminding myself that Eliza had chosen to stay with me. “I’m going to confess my real crime.”

Eliza’s lip quivered and she ran her hand over William’s back. “Alright,” she answered in a small, tiny voice.

I rested my forehead on the back of Eliza’s hand. “If you’d like, I can arrange for a sloop to take you to Albany. You, William, and Anne. So you won’t have to be there for the immediate aftermath.”

Before I had even finished speaking, Eliza shook her head. “No, Alexander.” Her voice was quiet yet firm. “I will stand by you. I’ve made my choice.”

I cupped Eliza’s cheek. “Best of mothers, wives, and women,” I said, pressing my lips to hers.

I could barely sleep the next few weeks, as the publication date of my pamphlet grew nearer.

Yet, I still did not call back its being published. I had made my choice, and, despite many of my friend’s recommendations, I knew what I had to do.

I couldn’t let the charge of speculation stand. I wasn’t going to allow the Democratic-Republican bastards to tell the story.

This why _my_ crime, my story to tell. This was the only way to protect all that I’d done, all that I’d worked so hard for.

I had clawed my way to where I was now, and I was not prepared to fall.

So, on August twenty fifth, seventeen ninety seven, I published _Observations on Certain Documents Contained in No. V & VI of “The History of the United States for the Year 1796,” In Which the Charge of Speculation Against Alexander Hamilton, Late Secretary of the Treasury, is Fully Refuted. Written by Himself, _ which totaled at eleven thousand thirteen words and roughly ninety five pages, telling the world everything.

Every last humiliating detail.

“The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds for purposes of improper pecuniary speculation. My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife, for a considerable time with his privity and connivance, if not originally brought on by a combination between the husband and wife with the design to extort money from me. This confession is not made without a blush. I cannot be the apologist of any vice because the ardour of passion may have made it mine. I can never cease to condemn myself for the pang, which it may inflict in a bosom eminently intitled to all my gratitude, fidelity and love. But that bosom will approve, that even at so great an expence, I should effectually wipe away a more serious stain from a name, which it cherishes with no less elevation than tenderness.”

Excerpt of _The Reynolds Pamphlet,_ written by Alexander Hamilton, 08/25/1797

That afternoon, I hurried home to Eliza so that I could hold her and bury all of my problems in her bosom.

However, when I returned home, it was not Eliza that I found first. No, it was Philip.

Philip sat in the parlor, my pamphlet before him, his hands balled into fists. His head shot up when I entered the room, and his eyes narrowed.

“Why?” Was the first thing he asked, jabbing his finger at the pages. “In such detail nonetheless.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Philip, would you rather your father be accused of speculation?” I didn’t allow Philip to answer. “No. You wouldn’t.”

Philip laughed joylessly. “You are my father, Pa. I love you, but I can’t understand this.” Philip bit his lip, obviously wishing to ask something.

“Yes?” I sighed.

Philip finally spoke up. “Did Ma know before? Because she’s been crying in Aunt Angelica’s arms for hours.”

My eyes widened. _Eliza was crying?_

I sent Philip one last glance before I hurried upstairs. And, sure as day, once I approached mine and Eliza’s bedroom, I could hear sobs coming from behind the door.

My hand hovered over the doorknob before I reminded myself that I was being foolish and I threw open the door, revealing Eliza, who was sobbing in Angelica’s arms.

Eliza looked up at the sound of the door opening and she stood up, turning to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me _this_ was what you were going to do?” She gestured to the pamphlet, abandoned on our dresser.

My eyebrows knitted together. “Eliza, I did tell you.”

Eliza shook her head. “You didn’t tell me that you were telling them story in such detail!” She let out a cry, burying her face in her hands. “Ninety seven pages, Alexander. Ninety seven.”

I didn’t say anything, still reeling, when Angelica suddenly grabbed my arm, dragging me from the room and from my heartbroken wife.

“Do you realize the full extent of what you’ve done?” Angelica asked, her nails digging into my arm. “And, before you say anything, I _know_ that Eliza gave you her permission to publish your pamphlet, but she didn’t know what _exactly_ you were going to do.”

I could barely register Angelica’s words. “She’ll leave me,” I gasped, and Angelica shook her head.

“If you believe that, you’re a fool.” Angelica cupped my cheek, tilting my chin down so that I looked her in the eyes. “Alexander, you must know what you’ve exposed Eliza— your family— to. Eliza will face public ridicule. You must give her time. You owe her that, at the very least.”

Without giving me a chance to respond, Angelica let go of my chin and turned on her heel, leaving me alone in the hallway. 

“Art thou a wife? See him, whom thou has chosen for the partner of this life, lolling in the lap of a harlot!!!”

The _Aurora General Advertiser,_ 09/19/1797

As all things must, life went on. 

The Democratic-Republican party was having a ball with the new news of my betrayal, and, as Angelica had said, they attacked Eliza in the papers.

Angelica was also correct about one other thing: Eliza had not left me. She had pulled away from me, but she had remained by my side and she stood tall as she did.

As I’d written on my pamphlet, I could never cease to condemn myself for the pain I’d inflicted upon Eliza, but I had to continue on with my life.

Unfortunately, right as I was set to leave for Hartford, Connecticut to represent the state of New York in a federal case a few weeks later, Philip became ill.

“Remember to write to me the minute _anything_ changes,” I said to Eliza, pulling my coat on. “Good or bad. And don’t hesitate to call me home—”

I was cut off by Eliza placing her finger over my lips. “Alexander, I promise you that I shall write to you if anything changes regarding Philip’s condition. Meanwhile, take care of yourself.”

I nodded, leaning down to chastely press my lips to Eliza’s cheek. “I will do that, my dear Eliza. I promise.”

Eliza smiled up at me and turned away. I watched her go, my heart heavy and my head spinning. I forced myself to breathe.

Philip would be fine. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be just fine.

I wondered, if I said it enough, if I could will it into being true.

Upon my arrival in Hartford, as I was writing letters, I found out that a courier had been sent for me, requiring that I return home as Philip had become so ill that it would then only be a matter of time before he drew his last.

Immediately, I set off, pushing my horse to go as fast as it could, desperate to reach my son in time to say goodbye.

I reached my house at night, a feeling of dread settling deep within me. Although I had no proof of this, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my son was already gone.

And wasn’t that the perfect punishment? After wronging my Eliza and my family so many times, I’d lose a member of that family. The family that I loved more than anything in this life. The family that I’d hurt.

I wondered if this was heavenly retribution.

I hurried into the house, where I found Eliza sitting in the parlor at Philip’s side, her hands clasped in prayer.

“Eliza,” I whispered, dropping to Eliza’s side. “Is he alive?” I grabbed Philip’s wrist, searching for a pulse, my hands shaking so hard that I barely maintained my grasp on Philip’s wrist.

Then, I felt it.

It was faint, and hard to feel, but it was there. Philip’s pulse. My son still lived. 

I sobbed, burying my face in the fabric of the settee where Philip lay, thinking the Lord for that mercy.

“Dr. Hosack sent me from the room,” Eliza said quietly. “He didn’t want me to see Philip’s last struggles. But I snuck in when he went to sleep.”

I nodded, standing up and immediately rushing to the room where Doctor David Hosack slept.

I shook his shoulders and he slowly sat up, blinking owlishly at me. “Colonel Hamilton?” he slurred, stumbling up.

“My dear sir, I could not remain in my own own house without first tendering to you my grateful acknowledgment for the valuable services you have rendered my family in the preservation of my child,” I said, clasping Hosack’s hand.

Hosack shook his head, squeezing my shoulder. “It was truly my pleasure, Colonel. Truly.”

I nodded and left the room, hurrying back to Philip’s side, where Eliza still knelt beside him. Immediately, taking me by surprise, Eliza intertwined our fingers.

Unwilling— or perhaps unable— to break the gentle silence between us, neither of us spoke. Instead, we simply watched Philip breath, occasionally wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Just as the sun had begun to rise, and the realization that Philip had survived the night swept over Eliza and I, Eliza finally began to cry, burying her face in the crook of my neck.

Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around her.

“Eliza,” I sobbed, tears beginning to trickle down my cheeks.

“Alexander,” Eliza whispered into my hair. I pulled Eliza tighter to me, and we simply cried.

Neither of us spoke again until the sun was high in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! And, shocker, I updated in less than a week. The next chapter should be up soon. Also, I know I always say this, but thank you SO MUCH for all of the comments and kudos, as well as the positive feedback for a sequel idea for this. I appreciate it so much, and it’s great motivation to write! Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. Yes, in one day, Hamilton got stoned (literally) in the street and challenged two duels. Classic Hamilton, causing trouble.  
> 2\. Angelica’s words to Hamilton about being “less near the sun” and the penalties and such are from a letter from Angelica to Eliza, June 3rd, 1798.  
> 3\. It is a common misconception that Eliza left New York to go to Albany to give birth to William, but that’s likely not true. There’s more to it than that, but basically it’s really unlikely that Eliza went from NYC to Albany and back in a certain time frame. Also, I doubt Hamilton would’ve sent a heavily pregnant Eliza to Albany where there was a chance she would’ve given birth on board.  
> 4\. Yes, Philip became ill a few weeks after the Reynolds Pamphlet was published. And, yes, David Hosack is the doctor who tended to both Philip and Hamilton after their respective duels.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you, again, for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 1797-July 12, 1804

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

_December 1797, York City, New York_

We had packed up all of Fanny’s bags and stacked them in the front parlor. Now, all we had to do was wait for her sister, Mary Lansing, to arrive and fetch her.

“Do I have to go?” Fanny asked, holding my hand tightly, and my heart broke for her. 

After I had published my pamphlet, Fanny’s sister had apparently decided that Fanny shouldn’t be staying in such a sinful home with such bad influences, and had decided to take her to her home; as if we hadn’t been watching Fanny for about a decade.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much we could do. “I don’t want to go,” Fanny whined, looking up at me with wide eyes.

“I know,” I said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Fanny’s head. “I know. But that’s your real sister, and she’ll take good care of you.”

Fanny huffed, shaking her head. “But I don’t _know_ her. I want to stay with you.”

I nodded, and my heart broke a little more for her, because I knew exactly what Fanny was going through.

After all, I hadn’t known my cousin Peter very well either. 

“We’ll still write to you,” Eliza said, hurrying down the stairs. She knelt down at Fanny’s feet and took her hands. “You’ll _always_ have a home here.”

Fanny’s lower lip quivered and she threw her arms around Eliza’s neck, letting out a little wail. “I don’t want to go,” she repeated, and I looked away, blinking away the wetness in my eyes.

Eliza nodded sadly, cupping Fanny’s cheek. “I know, darling. We don’t want you to, but your sister thinks it best.” Eliza pursed her lips. “And your birth family’s opinions take precedence over ours.”

Fanny sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not fair.”

I could’ve laughed. That was something I certainly knew. But, at the very least, we had succeeded in giving Fanny a good enough life that she didn’t know that.

“Oh, dear heart,” Eliza cooed, kissing Fanny’s cheeks right as the sounds of hooves became apparent.

Fanny let out another cry, throwing her arms around my chest as I stroked her hair. “It will be okay,” I said, kissing the top of her head.

Fanny nodded, stepping back and allowing Eliza to help her into her coat. A servant of ours grabbed Fanny’s bags and we walked her out to the coach where her sister stood.

“You must be Mrs. Lansing,” Eliza greeted kindly, while Fanny hid behind me. “It’s a pleasure.”

Mrs. Lansing nodded, looking between Eliza and I with distaste. “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine. Now, we should be on our way.”

I nodded Fanny and she slowly peeked out from behind me, waving shyly at Mrs. Lansing, whose face did soften at the sight of her younger sister.

Fanny turned around to Eliza and I once more, waving goodbye. “Goodbye.”

Eliza and I waved. As Fanny climbed into the carriage, Eliza intertwined our fingers, squeezing tightly.

I pulled her to me as the carriage pulled away, Fanny’s head peeking out of the window until the carriage turned a corner and she was out of sight.

Immediately, Eliza let out a sob, and I led her inside, wrapping her in my arms. “Hush, my dear Eliza.” I kissed her forehead. “It will be alright.”

Eliza inhaled deeply, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “I know, I know.” She rubbed her eyes. “A woman named Isabella Graham approached me a few days ago.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised at the abrupt subject change. “Oh?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes. She invited me to join a society she founded, called the society for the relief of poor widows with children. I’ve been pondering her offer, and I think I’ll accept it.”

I smiled softly, pressing my lips to Eliza’s. “You, my love, are an angel.”

In Spring, after Adams’ horrible handling of France, many Americans feared a naval war with France.

And, of course, who better to lead the army than Washington himself?

In late May, Washington wrote to me, asking if I could possibly be disposed to join the army at his side. Really, it wasn’t even a question I had to ponder.

Unfortunately, our _esteemed_ President John Adams did not agree that I should be the one to lead the army, and so back and forth it went, until, finally, in July, I was given the spot I’d so longed for and was promoted to the role of a Major General.

Unfortunately, despite the upcoming glory of battle, my salary— or really lack thereof— was only two hundred sixty eight dollars and thirty five cents in total.

On top of that, my only aide was Angelica’s son, Philip Church, as Angelica thought it would be good for his morale.

We planned and planned, but that was not all that I busied myself with.

After I’d returned to New York from Philadelphia on December fifteenth, I was approached by— of all people— Aaron Burr.

“Mr. Burr,” I greeted, looking up from my desk to the doorway of my office where Burr was standing. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?”

Burr closed my office door behind him as he entered the room, instantly making me sit up a little straighter. 

“I’m here, Mr. Hamilton, because I have a proposition for you,” he said. I looked up at Burr, suddenly _very interested_ to see where this conversation would be going.

“Oh?” I asked. “Well, Mr. Burr, you have my attention.” I interlaced my fingers on the top of my desk.

Burr sat down across from my desk, straightening his coat jacket. “I have an idea to create clean water. We certainly need it.”

I hummed and nodded. Yellow-Fever had begun to run rampid once more, and the city’s lack of clean water certainly wasn’t helping the cause.

“Well, Mr. Burr, you have my attention.” I leaned forward. “However, I must ask, have you no other people on your side?”

Burr shook his head. “Oh, no, I do. But you, well, we were friends, once.” Burr’s lips contorted are the word and I almost laughed.

Yes, Burr and I had been many things, but I never would’ve considered _friends_ one of them. 

Nevertheless, I supported his idea. After all, I had seen the direct effects of yellow fever, and if I could prevent others from seeing it too, then I supported this plan.

“Well then,” I said, brushing off my coat and leaning over to shake Burr’s hand. “I would be honored to help you.”

Burr smiled and stood up, grabbing his hat. “I thank you, Colonel Hamilton.”

I exhaled deeply through my nose. “It’s General now,” I corrected. I had worked so hard to be where I was— certainly harder than _Burr,_ who’d had everything handed to him— and I would not have my accomplishments invalidated.

Burr hummed. “Right. Good day, _General.”_ I bristled at his mocking tone, watching as Burr exited the room.

I puffed out a breath and reminded myself that, despite my detestment of Burr, his plan would help the city.

So, with great reluctance, I picked up my quill and began to outline.

On February twenty second, seventeen ninety nine, after I’d conferred with an English engineer, Burr and I approached the mayor of New York, Richard Varick, with our plan.

“General Hamilton, Mr. Burr,” Varick said, smiling brightly. “It’s a pleasure to see you both. I’m told that you have a proposition for me?”

I nodded, stepping forward and presenting the plan I’d conjured up. “It’s all here.” Varick took the paper and I began to speak.

“I have the idea to drain city swamps, install sewers, and, of course, build waterworks.” I cleared my throat. “We have all seen the horrible, sometimes fatal, effect yellow fever has on its victims. And with the outbreak going on as of now, we must take the necessary precautions to save lives. It is more crucial now than ever before.”

Varick nodded. “This is impressive,” he mumbled, seemingly to himself. “Anything else to add?”

“Oh, yes.” I nodded. “Other than what I’ve already mentioned, we will provide clean, free water and repair city streets which have been damaged by stray pipes.”

Varick handed my plan back to me. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave it to the state legislature to decide, but this is an excellent plan.”

I nearly beamed and even the corners of Burr’s lips were turned up. “Excellent,” Burr said. “I bid you a good day.”

As we walked outside, I patted Burr’s arm. “Isn’t this great?” I smiled. “Thank you for inviting me to assist you.”

Burr, to my shock, let out a loud laugh. “Oh, Mr. Hamilton, I beg of you to believe me when I say that the pleasure is all mine.”

I waved my hand dismissively, and, as I returned home, I wondered if I had misjudged Burr all of these years.

In the end, it turned out that I had _not_ misjudged Burr. Not in the slightest.

On April second, the New York Governor John Jay signed the newly named Manhattan Company into a law.

While that was good, at the very last minute, Burr, acting as the snake I’d always known him to be, added in a clause that allowed the company to function as a bank.

A Democratic-Republican bank.

I was utterly livid.

“That rascal!” I shouted when Eliza told me the news, as surprised and furious as I was at the turn of events.

“Oh, Alexander, I’m sorry,” Eliza said softly, her face the perfect picture of fury. At my confused expression, Eliza elaborated. “That man took advantage of your kindness.”

I sighed, stepping down onto my chair. “Burr’s a rat.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’ve always known that, what had I been thinking…”

I felt so foolish.

Eliza shook her head, kissing my cheek. “Alexander, you were only doing what you thought to be right. You are not to blame.”

I stood up. “Yes, well, it matters not.”

At the very least, I could take satisfaction in the fact that Burr did not come out of the whole issue unscathed, although he wasn’t technically punished for lies.

On September second, seventeen ninety ninety, Angelica’s husband, John Church, dueled Burr, shooting a button off of his coat.

Frankly, I wasn’t surprised that Burr had angered someone enough to warrant a duel.

And, although I didn’t know it then, that would not be the final time I heard of Burr, nor was it the final time that the subject of Burr and duels was brought up.

On December fourteenth, seventeen ninety nine, between ten and eleven at night, George Washington died of quinsy at his home, Mount Vernon.

His death stunned the nation, and nearly everyone wept.

Eliza cried as well, holding our newest baby, Eliza, naked after her mother— although I had taken to calling her Little Betsey— who was born on November twentieth.

“Oh, goodness,” Eliza sniffled, wiping her eyes and rocking Betsey. “He was such a good man, and his poor wife. What must her feelings be, to be seperated from her husband by a distance that cannot be breached?”

I nodded. “It’s unimaginable…” 

Despite my sometimes strained relationship with Washington, I never would’ve wished him dead. Washington and I had never been exceptionally close, but he’d been a good man, and America would mourn him.

On December twenty sixth, I marched into Washington’s funeral procession in Philadelphia, which was more than Jefferson, Madison, Burr, Adams, Monroe, or this country’s other so-called “great men” could say.

Unfortunately, in February of eighteen hundred, the year of a new election, Congress halted enlistments for the new army, and about a month later I returned home after bidding my troops goodbye.

However, despite my upset at the demobilization of the army, I had other things to ponder. Namely, the upcoming election.

“But I can no longer restrain my sensibility from conveying to you an imperfect expression of my affectionate sympathy in the sorrows you experience. No one, better than myself, knows the greatness of your loss, or how much your excellent heart is formed to feel it in all its extent. Satisfied that you cannot receive consolation, I will attempt to offer none. Resignation to the will of Heaven, which the practice of your life ensures, can alone alleviate the sufferings of so heart-rending an affliction.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Martha Washington, 01/12/1800

On March thirty first, eighteen hundred, the trial in which I was a lawyer, _The People vs. Levi Weeks,_ began at City Hall on Wall Street.

The story went that on the night of December twenty second, seventeen ninety nine, Gulielma Sands left her boarding house, located on Greenwich Street, and went to visit her fiancé, Levi Weeks. After, she was never seen again alive.

A few days later, on January second, eighteen hundred, her body was found in a wooden well, which was owned by the Manhattan Company, ironically enough.

The main suspect was Levi Weeks, Guilielma’s fiancé, but I had my doubts about his guilt, which was why I agreed to be his lawyer. Weeks had also managed to sign Brockholst Livingston and Burr.

As soon as the trial was called to order, I stood up, straightening the lapels on my jacket. “Now, gentlemen of the jury, I know the unexampled industry that has been exerted to destroy the reputation of the accused and to immolate him at the shrine of persecution without the solemnity of a candid and _fair_ trial.”

I glanced pointedly at the judge, breathing in deeply before continuing. “We have witnessed the extraordinary means which have been adopted to inflame the public passions and to direct the fury of popular resentment against the prisoner. Now, why has the body been exposed for days in the public streets in a manner the most innocent and shocking?” I tapped my chin. “In this way, gentlemen, the public comes to be formed unfavorably, and long before the prisoner is _brought_ to his trial, he is already condemned.”

With that, I sat down, allowing my words to sink in.

So we began.

The rest of the defense and I had formed our alibi for the poor Mr. Weeks. We established that he had dined at the home of Ezra Weeks on the night Gulielma Sands was murdered.

It turned out that, upon further inspection, that the body of the deceased showed certain marks that could have indicated her taking her own life, which only exonerated Weeks more.

However, I did not believe that. No, I thought the most likely suspect was Richard Croucher, who had stirred up trouble with Levi Weeks some time before the trial.

After getting Croucher to admit that he had often quarreled with Weeks, I made my move.

As Croucher testified, I stood up, dusting off my coat and grabbing two nearby candles, holding them up to Croucher’s face, causing him to lean back.

“What in hell?” he asked, obviously angry, but I continued on. 

I placed the two candles on each side of Croucher, watching him closely. I then turned to the jury, who looked as perplexed as Croucher.

“The jury will mark every muscle of his face, every motion of his eye.” Croucher shifted uncomfortably as I continued. “I conjure you to look through that man’s countenance to his conscience.”

The trial came to a close on April second, eighteen hundred at one thirty in the morning. 

After, the jury left the main courtroom to deliberate for about five minutes, leaving everyone else on tender hooks, especially Levi Weeks, the man who had the most to lose.

Finally, the jury came out and one man stood up. “After much deliberation, we do declare Levi Weeks not guilty.”

Weeks let out a sigh of relief and I smiled wide, my gaze inadvertently going to the Rings, the deceased’s family, who were staring at the jury, wide eyed.

When Catherine Ring caught my eye, I quickly turned back to Weeks, who clasped my hand and Burr’s, then Livingston’s.

“Thank you, good sirs. Thank you!” he exclaimed, tears in his eyes.

I shook my head, pulling on my coat, eager to return to my home, to my Eliza, and to my bed. “It’s our pleasure. It’s what we do.”

With that, I grabbed my briefcase, heading for the door. I was half-way there when Catherine Ring grabbed my arm, her face contorted in fury.

I startled slightly, jerking my arm out of her grasp and hurrying to the door. She didn’t follow me, but she did scream at me, her words echoing around the courthouse.

“If thee dies a natural death, I shall think there is no justice in heaven!”

“The Jury then went out, and returned in about five minutes with a verdict— NOT GUILTY.”

Excerpt of William Coleman’s transcript of _The People vs. Levi Weeks_

As autumn came, so did the upcoming election of eighteen hundred. 

On October twenty fourth, in a desperate bid to not have John Adams re-elected, I published a _Letter from Alexander Hamilton, Concerning the Public Conduct and Character of John Adams, Esq. President of the United States,_ which effectively ruined Adams’ chances of being re-elected.

However, even with my pamphlet, many people still believed that it would be a race between Adams and Jefferson, as in the previous election. 

In the end, it was not a race between Adams and Jefferson. No, it was Jefferson and _Burr._

With my only choices being Burr or Jefferson, I quickly decided to back Jefferson. Jefferson was many things, mostly bad, but he had an ethos, at the very least.

“I still don’t understand,” Eliza huffed, as I absently drew up the plans for the new house I was planning to build for our family. “You have never agreed with Jefferson once.”

I nodded. “You’re correct, my dear, but, even though his beliefs are terrible, at least Jefferson _has them.”_ My lip curled. “The same cannot be said for Burr.”

Eliza sighed. “Alexander, do you really want Thomas Jefferson for President?” 

I shook my head, turning in my chair to face Eliza. “Of course not, my love, both choices are awful, but Burr is immoral, for Christ’s sake. The man will bring this country to its ruin to further his own selfish motives.”

“And Jefferson won’t do the same?” Eliza raised an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

On February eleventh, eighteen hundred and one, the votes cast were opened to the senate floor, as Jefferson and Burr had tied with seventy three votes each. After the Senate voted, it moved on to the House.

Once it had moved to the House— which was dominated by Federalists— I began to talk to my colleagues and friends in the House, trying to convince at least one of them to retract their vote for Burr.

It turned out that my efforts were not in vain. 

After thirty five rounds of voting, on the thirty six round, Maryland removed its vote for Burr, making Thomas Jefferson the third President of the United States.

In late February, a few days before Jefferson was to be inaugurated, I found myself traveling to Albany to attend the New York Court of Errors.

Upon my arrival, I quickly hurried to the Schuylers’ home to deliver my best wishes from Eliza and to dine with them.

“Alexander,” Catherine said softly, kissing my cheeks. “How are you? How are your children? How is Eliza?”

I shrugged, handing my coat and hat to a servant. “Eliza and the children are all fine.” I pursed my lips. “Well, all except Betsey. She’s been very ill as of late.”

I shook my head. Betsey has always been ill and I didn’t want to dwell on it. After all, she had my dear Eliza— the best of mothers, wives, and women— taking care of her.

Catherine squeezed my arm. “I’m sure she’ll be alright.” She led me to the parlor, where Peggy’s only living son, Stephen, sat, reading a book.

“Ah, young Stephen,” I said, and Stephen looked up, smiling and closing his book. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Uncle Hamilton.” Stephen’s face dropped. “Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for my Mama.”

I frowned, furrowing my eyebrows. “Whatever do you mean?”

Catherine averted her eyes, turning to Stephen. “Stephen, why don’t you go play outside? It’s beginning to warm up.”

Stephen, despite obviously wishing to stay inside, nodded. “Yes, Grandmama.” He grabbed his book and left the room. 

As soon as I heard the back door open and shut, I turned to Catherine. “Is Peggy ill again?”

Catherine sighed, picking at her dress, and my heart dropped. “Peggy is…” Only then did I notice the tears shining in Catherine’s eyes. “The doctor says that Peggy’s… _time_ is imminent.”

Catherine sniffled and I handed her my handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Alexander,” she sobbed, wiping her eyes.

I waved my hand. “You needn’t apologize.” I cleared my throat. “May I see her?”

Catherine nodded. “Of course. She’s upstairs in the room in which Philip was born.” At my expression, she elaborated. “Mr. Van Rensselaer thought it best she be with us.”

I nodded, hurrying up the stairs and opening the door, revealing Peggy, who was staring wistfully out the window.

I shut the door behind me and Peggy startled, turning to look at me. “Alexander.” I smiled, sitting down in the chair beside her bed.

“Peggy.” I took her hand. “How are you, little sister?”

Peggy shrugged. “I’m as well as can be expected.” She frowned, turning her head to look out the window again. “Alexander, I’ve seen so much death in my life. I’ve seen the way my mother cried when her baby’s died, I cried when my own daughter died. I…” Peggy trailed off, letting out a sob.

I breathed in deeply. “Peggy, you aren’t going to die.”

Peggy snorted. “Alexander, I’ve heard what the doctor had said. Besides that, I’m no fool.” She sat up slightly, wincing as she did. “Alexander, I have a request.”

“What is it?” I asked.

Peggy smiled sadly at me, squeezing my hand. “I know the effects the death of a child has on the parents. I beg of you to be there for my mother and father after I…” She waved her hand.

“Of course,” I whispered. 

I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. It seemed that Peggy couldn’t either, so we simply sat in silence until I was called down for dinner.

Over the next few weeks, Peggy’s condition fluctuated, but, even on her better days, the doctor told us not to hold out hope that she’d survive.

All the while, I wrote to Eliza as often as I could, updating her on Peggy’s condition. I dreaded the letter I’d soon have to write, telling Eliza of the death of her eldest younger sister.

On March fourteenth, Peggy grew infinitely worse, and the Schuylers, the elder Stephen, and I crowded around her bedside, waiting for the end.

Unfortunately for her, Peggy was entirely conscious, but, for once, quiet and serene, as if resigned to the importance change she was about to experience.

I had begun to wonder if this really was the end or if Peggy was to hold on longer, when Peggy tapped my hand. “Alexander, remember what I asked of you,” she said, her voice hoarse.

I bit my lip to keep my tears at bay. “Of course, Peggy.”

The corners of Peggy’s lips turned up and she exhaled deeply. “I’m sure it will be beautiful,” she whispered, seemingly to herself, before letting out a final breath, her eyes slipping shut.

I closed my eyes, tears falling down my cheeks as everyone else in the room sobbed. I looked down at Peggy’s limp hand, her fingers still over mine, and I squeezed her hand one final time.

“On Saturday, My Dear Eliza, your sister took leave of her sufferings and friends, I trust, to find repose and happiness in a better country. Viewing all that she had endured for so long a time, I could not but feel a relief in the termination of the scene. She was sensible to the last and resigned to the important change.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 03/16/1801

After about a week of travel, I returned to New York, quickly hurrying home to comfort Eliza, who was undoubtedly grieving the loss of her sister.

I hurried upstairs upon my arrival home and Eliza immediately threw herself into my arms, sobbing into my chest.

“Oh, my sweet love,” I said softly, leading Eliza to our bed and holding her to me, running my fingers through her hair. “It will be alright.”

Eliza wiped her eyes, leaning up and kissing me. “Oh, Alexander, was the end painful?”

I shook my head, clasping Eliza’s hand. “No, my dear. Peggy seemed almost at peace. Certainly more than she had in the weeks before it.”

Eliza sniffed, burying her face in her hands. “I only recently received your letter. I… Was the funeral beautiful?”

“Of course.” I cupped Eliza’s cheek. “It was nothing less than what Peggy deserved.”

“That’s nice,” Eliza answered, burying her face in my chest. “Goodness, what must Mama and Papa be feeling?”

I shook my head. “I can scarcely imagine.”

In that moment I couldn’t imagine what they were feeling. If only I had known what Eliza and I would be facing in the coming months.

On the morning of November twenty third, John Church and my son, Philip, entered my office, Philip looking sheepish.

I looked up from my papers. “Philip, Jack.” I looked between them with curiosity. “What is it?”

Church nudged Philip forward, and he cleared his throat. “Uncle Church has told me that I should come to you for advice.”

I held out my hand before Philip could continue. “Philip, don’t prevaricate. What is it?”

Philip nodded. “Of course. I… I am to participate in a duel this afternoon.”

I blinked in shock. “With whom and why?” I finally asked.

“A man named George Eacker.” Philip frowned, as if just thinking the man’s name disgusted him. I hummed, racking my brains to remember why the name was so familiar as Philip began to speak again. “Three days ago, my friend Price and I traveled to the theater where we came across Mr. Eacker, who had insulted you on the Fourth of July this year.”

_So that was why the name George Eacker was so familiar._

“He called my friend and I rascals, Pa,” Philip spat. “We couldn’t allow it.” Philip shook his head. “Anyways, I went to Uncle Church and we tried to negotiate a peace, as Eacker had already dueled Price. Eacker didn’t accept my apology, so Mr. Church advised that I go to you, as you’ve been involved in a few duels in your life.”

I exhaled deeply. “Is this true, Jack?” I turned to face Church, who nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve done all I could. Now, I say he shoots the bastard that insulted him, but I acknowledge the fact that he is a boy, and will have plenty of chances to shoot some rascal in the future.”

I rolled my eyes, rubbing my temples. “Philip, you’re absolutely certain that you can’t issue an apology?”

“Yes, Pa,” Philip answered. “I’ve _tried._ Now, all I can do is get my pistols ready.”

I stood up, ready to grab my pistols, when Church held out a box. “Here. They’re mine. He may use them.”

I took the box, opening it and pulling out a pistol, examining it, running my hands over the trigger. “Thank you, Jack.” I closed the box and handed Philip the pistol.

“You will throw away your shot,” I told him. “It’s a move that’s called a _delope._ It will show your opponent that you will not harm him, allowing everyone to return home unharmed.”

Philip looked apprehensive, tracing the rim of the barrel. “What if he decides to shoot anyways?” Philip’s eyes widened and he gulped. “Then…”

I shook my head, taking the gun and setting it aside then placing my hands on Philip’s shoulders. “If he is truly a man of honor, then he will do the same. Philip, you’re… you’re too young to have the blood of another on your hands.”

Philip nodded. “Alright, Pa.”

I swallowed heavily, squeezing Philip’s shoulder. “Do the right thing.”

Philip nodded and left the room, the chest with the pistols in his hand. However, Church still hovered.

“Yes?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

Church shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just be sure to send a doctor to my house. Just in case it’s needed.”

“Of course,” I said, watching as Church left the room, the door closing behind him with a ‘click’.

“Just in case,” I echoed softly to myself. “Just in case.”

That very afternoon, I paced in my office, anxiety building within me.

 _It will be okay,_ I reminded myself. Everything was going to be fine. Philip would come home, alive and unscathed, and Eliza would be none the wiser.

I dropped my head in my hands, forcing myself to breathe in and out, when there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” I called, sitting down behind my desk. 

The door opened, revealing a servant boy. A very familiar servant boy, in fact. I quickly recognized him as Angelica’s and my chest tightened.

“Mr. Hamilton, Mrs. Church sent me to fetch you.” The boy swallowed. “Your son, Philip, has been shot in a duel.”

I had jumped up so quickly that my head spun. Everything felt so small, my head was pounding, and it seemed that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t breathe in enough air.

I grabbed my coat and set off on my horse, heading to the home of Doctor David Hosack to alert him that his services would be needed.

The whole ride, I could barely think. I couldn’t focus on anything but the knowledge that Philip, the boy who had made me a father, had been shot.

I arrived at Hosack’s house and quickly hurried up the steps, pounding on his door. To my surprise, Hosack himself answered.

“General Hamilton,” he gasped, leading me inside. “I was just on my way to your sister-in-law’s to help your son.”

I nodded absently, trying so desperately to breathe. “General?” Hosack asked, and his face was all that I saw before the world faded to black.

When I awoke, it was to a woman standing over me, wiping my brow. As soon as my eyes had opened, my memories flooded back to me and I jumped up, swaying slightly.

“General Hamilton,” the woman scolded lightly. “You need to sit.”

I shook my head. “No, I need to go to my son.” I swirled around to face the women. “How long was I unconscious?”

The woman glanced at the clock. “You needn’t worry. Only a few minutes. My husband has already left, before you ask.”

I nodded, patting the woman’s, apparently Mrs. Hosack, hand. “Thank you.”

I threw open the door, jumping on my horse and racing to the Church’s home, my head spinning. 

Upon my arrival at their home, I jumped off of my horse, hurrying inside the house. Immediately, I saw Angelica, who was coming down the stairs, her face pale and her eyes wide.

My heart clenched, but I continued on, grabbing Angelica’s arm. “Where is he?” I asked, panting heavily. “Is Eliza here yet?”

Angelica gently cupped my cheek. “Good Christ, Alexander, how far did you ride?” When I remained silent, Angelica huffed. “Philip is in the second bedroom. And, no, Eliza is not here yet. But I’ve sent a servant to fetch her.”

I nodded, running up the stairs and throwing open the door to the room where Philip lay. For a moment, I stood frozen in shock before I gathered my wits, hurrying to Philip’s side.

“Oh, my son,” I gasped, looking down at Philip’s ashen face.

“Pa,” Philip choked out, smiling ruefully. I grabbed his wrist, feeling for his pulse. Thankfully, I could feel it, however weak it was.

I stared at Philip for another long moment before turning from the bed, unable to look at Philip any longer, and grabbing Hosack’s hand.

“Doctor, I despair,” I proclaimed, my eyes rapidly filling with tears. 

My heart clenched and I was hit with a rush of hatred for _myself._ I had always known that everyone I’d loved would leave me, but I had foolishly allowed myself to think that my family was permanent.

Now, it was Philip’s time.

Why hadn’t I done more to protect my family? Why had I ever allowed Philip to duel in the first place? 

I wanted to rage at god, at the devil, at any higher entity that could’ve been at fault for this, and scream at them, because _hadn’t I lost enough in my life?_

Now my son?

My young son, who was only nineteen. My son, who was so bright and had so much potential. My son, who still had much that he’d wanted to do, and now he’d never be allowed the chance to do it.

Wasn’t that just cruel?

I inhaled shallowly, hurrying back to Philip’s side. “Oh, Philip, I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, unable to keep my tears at bay.

Philip shrugged, clenching his teeth and wincing as he did. “It’s not… not your fault, Pa.” Philip laughed dryly. “It doesn’t hurt too bad.” 

I nearly sobbed at Philip’s attempt to be brave. My brave, brave boy.

“Hush, Philip,” I reprimanded gently. “Don’t speak. Save your strength, my son.”

Oh, my son.

Philip wasn’t given a chance to answer, even if he’d wanted to, as the door flew open and Eliza rushed in, her face contorted in horror.

“No!” she cried, running to Philip’s other side. “Oh, no, no, no.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she intertwined her fingers with Philip’s, though they were bloodstained.

“Ma,” Philip said. “Ma, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt Eacker—”

Eliza shook her head. “Philip, you’ve done nothing wrong, you don’t have to apologize for anything, my sweet son.”

Eliza let out a small wail, her shoulders shaking. “I love you, Ma,” Philip whispered, as if it was all he had the strength for. “I love you, Pa.”

My heart broke and I had to turn away, lest I break down in uncontrollable tears.

Philip survived the night, but the doctors told Eliza and I not to maintain much hope for a recovery, as it was doubtful that Philip would make it through the morning.

“I repent,” Philip proclaimed on the morning of November twenty fourth. “I beg God to forgive me for my sins.”

Philip then turned to me. “I’m so, so sorry, Pa. I did everything you said. I did…” Philip finally began to cry. “I did…” 

I gingerly took Philip’s hand. “Save your strength.”

At roughly five that morning, Philip’s hand, which I still held, went slack in mine and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

My eyes widened and Eliza wailed from beside me, still clutching Philip’s chest, as if, if she held on tight enough, she could prevent his soul from leaving his body.

After about fourteen hours of suffering, Philip has left this Earth so quickly and so quietly, had I not have been holding his hand, I might not have noticed it.

But hadn’t death always been quick?

I stumbled back in shock, my cheeks stained with tears. I let out a broken sob, burying my face in my hands.

How was this fair?

The door opened behind me and I turned, revealing Angelica and Church. “Oh, sweet Eliza,” Angelica cooed, stepping forward to embrace Eliza.

However, Eliza suddenly stilled, looking up at me. “Alexander, what did Philip mean when he said that he’d done what you said?”

I didn’t speak, the shame overwhelming me.

_This was all my fault._

“Alexander,” Eliza practically growled. “Answer me.”

I dropped to my knees, no longer able to hold myself up. “I’m so sorry, my dear Eliza. I never meant to cause this, but he came to me for help…”

“You did this?” Eliza asked, her eyes wide in horror. “Why?”

I clutched at the ends of Eliza’s skirts. “I’m sorry, my beloved, I’m sorry…” Eliza continued to cry, looking down at me, her expression one of pure fury.

“This is your fault!” She pointed at me. “Are those pistols yours too? Did your pistols kill our boy?”

Church spoke up, shaking his head. “No, Elizabeth. They’re mine.”

If it was possible, that only seemed to serve to make Eliza angrier. “You!” Eliza jerked her skirts out of my grasp, seemingly preparing to march over to Church, when Angelica grabbed Eliza’s waist, holding her back.

“Eliza, be calm, please,” Angelica urged, still holding Eliza back.

“This is your fault,” Eliza snarled, but whether it was directed at myself or at Church, I did not know or care to know.

“Come, Eliza,” Angelica said softly, leading Eliza, who suddenly seemed drained of all energy, from the room, from our son, from _me._

Before I could register anything, Church hauled me up, leading me downstairs to the parlor, where a glass of brandy was pressed into my hand.

“My son,” I said, for it was all I could think, let alone speak. Upstairs, lay my dead son. My son was dead and I was to blame.

Church sighed deeply. “Drink, Alexander.”

I did as he said, drinking deeply, relishing the burn as the whiskey traveled down my throat. Church quickly poured me another glass and I drank that as well.

“I’m sorry, Alexander,” Church finally said, clasping my shoulder. “I hope that you can take comfort in the knowledge that he is in a better world.”

Suddenly, panic built within me once more. “Eliza.” Church tilted his head to the side and I continued. “Eliza is with child. What if this causes a miscarriage?”

Church just shook his head, refilling my glass. “Drink up, Alexander.”

I shook the glass slightly, watching as the dark liquid swirled in the fine crystal. I only looked up when the door to the parlor opened, revealing Angelica. As she entered, Church left the room, leaving us alone.

“Alexander, are you alright?” Angelica asked in lieu of a proper greeting, sitting down beside me. I didn’t speak. “Alexander.”

“How is Eliza?” I asked instead of answering how I was, because I _didn’t know._

“She’s… She’s as well as can be.” Angelica took the glass of whiskey from me, placing it on a nearby table. “She’s asleep now.”

“She must hate me,” I whispered. It seemed that I couldn’t muster anything over a whisper. “Does she?”

Angelica looked down sadly at me. “She is mourning, Alexander. She… Well, she’s furious, but I truthfully believe that she is angry at herself.” Angelica pursed her lips. “I believe she thinks she failed Philip as a mother.”

I gaped. “How can she think that?”

Angelica shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know that she will forgive you, as she always has. You must give her time.”

“This is all my fault,” I said. It seemed to be the only thing I could focus on. All my life, I had been able to push my grief away, but not this time. This time, it overwhelmed me. I felt as if I would drown in it.

Angelica frowned, intertwining our fingers. “Alexander, this is _not_ your fault, not Philip’s, and not Jack’s. The fault lies wholly at the feet of the rascal that shot Philip. Not you. You did not aim a pistol at your son, did you?”

I shook my head. “No. No, I did not.”

“Then you cannot be to blame,” Angelica answered resolutely. 

Despite the fact that I logically knew that I was not the one at fault for Philip’s death, I couldn’t shake the thought.

Angelica leaned down to kiss my temple, breaking me from my thoughts. “We are all here for you and Eliza, Alexander.” She was silent for a moment. Then, “I’m so sorry.”

I watched as she left the room, tears beginning to slip down my cheeks once again. And, despite all logic, I raised the glass of whiskey Angelica had set aside to my lips.

“On a Bed without curtains lay poor Phil, pale and languid, his rolling, distorted eye balls darting forth the flashes of delirium—on one side of him on the same bed lay his agonized father—on the other his distracted mother - around him numerous relatives and friends weeping and fix’d in sorrow - blanch’d with astonishment and affright was the countenance, which a few moments before was illumined by the smile of merriment.”

Excerpt of a letter from Philip Hamilton’s college friend, Thomas Rathbone, to his sister, 11/25/1801

Philip’s funeral took place that day at four in the afternoon. Ironically enough, it was a dark day, and rain fell from the sky.

To me, it felt like a mockery.

I didn’t stay at Philip’s funeral any longer than I had to. Frankly, I _couldn’t_ stay there any longer, as, right as Philip’s grave was lowered, I fell to my knees, unable to hold myself up any longer.

_My son, my son, my son…_

I let out a sob, and I distantly felt someone grab my arms, heard someone say something, but everything was too far away for me to understand or discern.

I had promised to keep Philip safe, all those years ago, but I had utterly failed. 

_Philip, I’m so sorry,_ I thought, watching as I was forcibly dragged from Philip’s grave. There, six feet underground, lay my son.

I was deposited in a carriage and I could feel Church, who was across from me, watching me, his eyes skittering away from me when I finally turned to look at him.

“I’m taking you home,” Church said as the carriage pulled up to my home, as if that wasn’t apparent. “You shouldn’t be out in the public eye at this moment.”

I nodded in agreement, stepping out of the carriage on shaky legs and walking slowly inside the house.

Despite the cold, pouring rain, I barely felt it.

Somehow, although I cannot recall exactly how, I found myself in the parlor, my sights set on our liquor cabinet. However, right as I entered the room, I noticed that I wasn’t alone.

Eliza sat curled up on the settee in the corner of the parlor, her gaze to the empty city street; most people having been driven inside by the rain.

“Funny isn’t it?” she asked softly, turning to look at me. “It’s raining on the day our son died and is to be buried.” She laughed joylessly.

“Even the heavens are mourning the loss of such a pure soul,” I said, my gaze trailing to the window as well.

“Yes.” Only then did I notice the tears falling down Eliza’s face. “They must be.”

Before I could think better of it, I found myself walking to Eliza’s side, dropping to my knees and tentatively taking her hand.

“Eliza, I’m so sorry.” I raised Eliza’s hand to my lips, tears welling in my eyes. “I know that I cannot bring back our son, nor can I soothe your pain, but I _love you.”_

I sobbed, still holding Eliza’s hand. “And I know… I know that I don’t deserve you.” I squeezed my eyes shut tightly in an effort to pull myself together. “I never did.”

Eliza remained silent, staring stoically above my head, so I began again. “I may not deserve you, but I do love you. And…” I bit my lip, stifling my sobs. “And I can never cease to condemn myself for all the wrongs I’ve done you.”

I breathed in deeply. “All those years ago, I promised to be with you until death did us part. I intend to keep that promise.”

Eliza still did not speak, and my heart dropped. “I know I don’t deserve you, my beloved, my heart, my sweet, dear Eliza. My Betsey—”

I was unable to hold my tears back any longer and I began to sob. 

Then, what must’ve been a miracle occurred. “It’s not about deserve,” Eliza finally said, throwing her arms around my neck.

I pulled her closer to me, kissing her. “I’m sorry,” I cried. 

Eliza shook her head, wiping my tears. “No, you don’t get to apologize. It is not you who did this.” Eliza cupped my cheek, pressing our lips together.

It tasted of salt.

It seemed unfair to me that with one bullet we should have lost two children. But, alas, life had never been fair and we had.

After Philip had died, Anne, who had always been sweet and sensitive, seemed to retreat within herself, losing her grasp on reality.

Whenever we saw her, she either talked of Philip as if he was alive or wasn’t lucid, staring into nothingness.

“How is she?” Eliza asked me, gesturing to Anne, who lay asleep in bed. At least then she was at peace.

I shrugged, tucking a strand of my daughter’s hair behind her ear. “She recognized who I was.” I rubbed my temples. “Isn’t this just cruel?”

Eliza slowly took my hand, leading me from the room. “Alexander, we have to trust that our Anne will improve.” Eliza’s face grew sad. “Hope is all we have.”

I nodded. Of all people, I knew the influence hope could have. After all, hope was what had kept me alive while I’d lived in St. Croix, all those years ago.

“I know.” I ran my fingers through the ends of Eliza’s hair, kissing the tip of her nose. “How is our little one?” I placed my hands over the swell of Eliza’s stomach. “They’re alright? No warning signs?”

Eliza shook her head, placing her hands over mine. “No, my love. Everything is just fine in that department.”

I nodded solemnly. Unfortunately, that same could not be said for the other aspects of our life. I shook the thoughts away and took Eliza’s hand, leading her outside.

“Our house should be finished, come spring. Then, I’ll retreat to private life. We’ll plant turnips.” Eliza laughed, a beautiful sound. 

“Do you truly mean it?” Eliza turned to face me, squeezing my hands. “Really and truly?”

I nodded, caressing Eliza’s cheek. “Yes, my sweet girl. Truthfully, I’m tired.”

Eliza snorted, poking my chest in jest. “I would hope so. After all, you’re not twenty three any more.”

I rolled my eyes fondly, pulling Eliza’s to me. “We’ll plant flowers, have a beautiful garden, and everything will be better.” I looked out at the horizon, breathing in deeply.

Oh, how I hoped that would be true.

In Spring, we moved to Harlem, where our new home was located, affectionately named The Grange, after my family’s home.

Soon after, on June first, eighteen hundred and two, our new baby was born— a son. 

We christened him Philip, in honor of his eldest brother. However, we had taken to calling him “Little Phil.”

Of course, everything did not immediately right itself upon our moving uptown. I still had work, so I bought a townhouse downtown to stay in sometimes. And, worst of all, Anne got no better. 

She didn’t necessarily get worse, per say, but she didn’t improve. I had learned one thing, however, upon our move.

I had learned that Anne was quite fond of birds, and would become calm in their presence. So, naturally, I bought her a few.

While they didn’t greatly improve her, she did seem happier with them, and that made it all worth it.

I did keep my word to Eliza about retreating from public life. I kept to smaller cases, mostly ones that have me the opportunity to nettle Jefferson, allowing myself to fade from the public’s view.

However, in January of eighteen hundred and three, that changed. 

There was a knock at my office door. “Come in,” I called, and the door opened, revealing Eliza, who was holding Phil.

“My dear wife, my dear son,” I greeted, kissing Eliza’s forehead and Phil’s cheek. “How are you, my darling?”

Eliza shrugged, closing my office door behind her. “Fine. I… Alexander, I’ve received a letter from my father.”

Eliza handed it to me and I frowned as Eliza continued. “Harry Croswell has been charged with serious libel against Jefferson,” Eliza said slowly. I nodded in recognition. 

“Yes, I’ve heard of the case.”

“Right.” Eliza picked at the sleeves of her dress. “My father has written to me with the hope that I may convince you to join the defense.”

My head shot up. “Betsey, I thought you _wanted_ me home more often?”

Eliza nodded. “I do, Alexander.” She exhaled through her teeth. “I do. But, I worry about you becoming restless.” Eliza stepped towards me. “I love you and I know that you are _mine,_ more than you are the public’s.”

I could feel my resolve melting, and, before I knew what I was doing, I had acquiesced. 

“Alright, my love.” I kissed Eliza. “Anything for you.”

Unfortunately, before I could join the defense— which I did on July eleventh— Eliza’s mother, Catherine, died on March seventh, causing Eliza to go up to Albany, taking all of the children except with her except for Johnny, William, and Betsey.

It seemed that, in our family, we never went too long without tragedy striking.

“I am anxious to hear of your arrival at Albany & shall be glad to be informed that Your Father and all of you are composed. I pray you to exert yourself & I repeat my exhortation that you will bear in mind it is your business to comfort and not to distress.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 03/20/1803

In February of eighteen hundred and four, while in Albany for the Croswell case, I was invited to a dinner at the Judge John Taylor’s home.

“Now,” Taylor began after about an hour or so of pleasant conversation, pouring me a glass of wine, “whatever do you think of the rumors going around that our Vice-President is going to run for Governor of New York?”

I huffed, taking a sip of my wine. “I think that’s dangerous, if he is to be elected.”

Doctor Charles Cooper, a man who was also in attendance, furrowed his eyebrows together. “Oh, what do you mean?”

I rolled my eyes. “Burr is a dangerous man. Everything he does is to further his own agenda.” I traced the rim of my glass. “And believe me when I say this. After all, I’ve known Burr for over thirty years.”

Taylor raised his glass at me. “He’s right. Burr is a scoundrel. Everything that fool does it to further his own gain.”

“No matter the cost,” I mumbled, thinking of the Manhattan Company and all of the other things that Burr had done that I knew of. 

“And that’s the truth,” Taylor grumbled. 

“Burr is not to be trusted with the reins of government,” I said.

If only I’d known what that comment would cost me.

A few weeks later, once I was back in Harlem, I was awoken in the middle of the night by the violent ringing of the bell outside of the house.

“What is that?” Eliza asked groggily, rubbing her eyes and blinking blearily.

I groaned, jumping up out of bed and grabbing a robe. “I suppose that we’ll find out.”

I hurried down the stairs, passing by the boy’s bedroom, where Johnny was yawning and standing in the doorway. “What is it, Papa?”

I shook my head. “Go back to sleep, Johnny.”

I threw open the front door, ready to scold whoever might be on the other side for the late hour, but I stopped upon seeing that it was Burr.

“Mr. Burr.” I gaped. “I hope you know how late it is?” I laughed dryly.

Burr nodded somewhat sheepishly, but he didn’t look too contrite. “Of course. I— I simply have come to you for assistance.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What kind of assistance, exactly?”

“Immediate pecuniary assistance,” Burr said. At least he had the good sense to look ashamed. Burr fiddled with a button on his coat as he spoke. “My home is in danger of being foreclosed.”

My eyes widened, and I was hit with a pang of pity for Burr. I might not have liked him, but I didn’t want to see him suffer.

So, I asked, “How much do you need?”

Burr shifted only slightly. “About ten thousand dollars.”

I pursed my lips. On the one hand, Burr and I had never really been friends, so it wasn’t as if I was under any obligation to help him.

On the other hand, I wouldn’t have liked to see Burr turned from his home, and I liked to believe that Burr would help me if I asked. 

I nodded, gesturing inside my home. “Come to my office.”

Burr followed me to my office and I quickly grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, doing the calculations in my head and then writing them down.

I finally spoke up. “I can’t give it to you at this very moment, but I’ll see what I can do.” 

Burr smiled. “Thank you, General.”

I led him back to the front door and watched him walk away out into the cold, shutting the door behind me and going upstairs, where Eliza sat in bed, still awake.

“Guess who that was?” I asked wryly, climbing in bed and hoping that I could obtain a few more hours of sleep before I was to wake up for good.

“Who?” Eliza asked.

I grinned. _“Burr.”_

Eliza gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “No.” She shook her head. “Whatever could he want?”

I shrugged, wrapping my arms around Eliza’s waist and pulling the covers up to our chests. “He requested pecuniary assistance. I told him I’d see what I could do.”

Eliza leaned up to kiss my cheek. “You’re too kind, my husband.”

I ran my hand through Eliza’s hair. “At least now I’ll probably be blessed by having a few months without seeing Burr again.”

Oh, how wrong I was.

Burr lost the race for Governor by a wide margin. Figuring that I’d helped him enough, I backed John Lansing Junior— a man that I’d never much liked— instead.

Anyone was better than Burr.

Unfortunately, around that same time, Burr got his hands on an article published in the _American Citizen,_ which included all that I’d said at the dinner at Judge Taylor’s, back in February.

While I may have been furious at my words reaching the papers, my fury was nothing compared to Burr’s.

Burr, it seemed, had reached his limit with me, as, on June eighteenth, eighteen hundred and four, I received a letter from Burr, directly referencing the comment I’d made that had been published in the papers.

So, two days later, I responded. But, unlike Burr requested, I did not take my words back. After all, I had meant what I’d said.

Back and forth we went, Burr’s requests growing until he decided he wished for me to make a general disavowal of _anything_ I’d said of Burr in the past which could be interpreted as derogatory, which I was unwilling to do.

Finally, on June twenty seventh, my second, Nathaniel Pendleton— a judge I vaguely knew— and Burr’s, William P. Van Ness, had issued a duel between us.

The duel was set to take place on July eleven, eighteen hundred at four in Weehawken, New Jersey.

On July Fourth, I found myself at Fraunces Tavern to attend a Society of Cincinnati meeting— an order of retired soldiers from our revolution.

I entered the room, immediately being swamped by people who wished to clasp my back or squeeze my shoulder.

However, my eyes were inexplicably drawn to Burr, who sat in the far corner, morose and silent. I turned away from him, taking the glass of ale offered to me.

I sat down at a table, simply listening to the singing of the people, their boisterous laughter, their clapping.

I was hit with a wave of nostalgia for so long ago. Yet, despite that, I didn’t long for that time. 

While I had lost many people over the years, I had also grown since that time, and I had a family, a good job, _stability._ I wouldn’t go back, even if there were some people I wouldn’t have regretted seeing one more time.

And, for the first time in years, I allowed myself to think of John. We’d been so young, naive, and idealistic. I’d changed so much, and I wondered if John would even recognize me now.

Even so, I allowed myself to long for him— him, his love, and all the promises that had died with him— for just a moment, before I was interrupted by John Trumbull, who grabbed my arm, bringing me back to the present.

“Come, Hammie, sing,” he exclaimed, slurring his words slightly as he did. “Come.”

I waved my hand dismissively, taking a step back. “No, I think I’ll just sit back and listen.”

Trumbull shook his head. “No, you won’t! Come.” He sighed. “Please?”

I sighed. “You want it?” There were many nods. “Well, you shall have it.”

People cheered and I cleared my throat. “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored.”

People quickly joined in. “He has loosed the fateful lightening of His terrible swift sword. His truth is marching on…”

I glanced at Burr, who held my gaze for a long moment. 

I looked away first.

Upon my arrival home, I quickly hurried to my office. After picking up my quill, I began to pen a letter to my dear Eliza, just in case I didn’t survive this duel with Burr.

Just in case… 

Once I’d finished it, I entered mine and Eliza’s room, very much satisfied with the letter, but confident that Eliza would never see it.

_Just in case._

As I crawled into bed, Eliza stirred, turning to face me, blinking owlishly. “Mm, Alexander.” Eliza leaned up to kiss me slowly.

I instinctively wrapped my arms around her waist, sighing happily into the kiss. As we pulled back, I ran my fingers over Eliza’s cheek.

“How are you, my angel?” 

Eliza simply smiled. “Better, now that you’re here.” 

I rolled my eyes fondly, glancing out the window. “I’m surprised you managed to fall asleep at all, what with all that racket.” I gestured out the window at the distant glow of fireworks.

Eliza curled into my side. “I wanted to stay awake.” She yawned. “I was waiting for you.”

I leaned down to kiss Eliza’s head. “I’m here now, my Betsey.” Quieter, I said, “I’ll always be here.”

Eliza hummed happily, drifting off to sleep. As soon as she had fallen asleep, I turned over, blowing out the candle on our nightstand.

“Best of wives and best of women.” I pressed my lips to Eliza’s cheek before closing my eyes and settling down for a restful night.

“This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career; to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality. If it had been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love for you and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible, without sacrifices which would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me.”

Excerpt of a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 07/04/1804

I opened my eyes, looking into the distant Hudson River, a pistol in my hand, and I couldn’t help the feeling that my life had come full circle.

I breathed in deeply, thinking of Burr, only a few paces away. Burr, who had every chance to kill me, as I had already decided to throw away my shot.

Despite that, I felt nothing but calm. 

Burr had always been out for himself. Everything he’d done or would do was to further Aaron Burr and Aaron Burr alone. So, of course, Burr would not shoot me. Shooting me would not be advantageous for Burr.

And, suddenly, I thought of the first time I’d met Burr, how we had instantly disliked one another. How we’d spent roughly the past twenty years baiting and fighting with each other.

Perhaps, in another life, we could’ve been colleagues. Friends, even.

I placed my finger over the trigger, only certain of one thing: that Aaron Burr would not kill me.

Burr was many things, but I would not have listed a murderer among them.

I _trusted_ Burr not to shoot me.

There was a long moment— a moment that seemed to last an eternity— before I pulled the trigger, watching as the bullet whizzed past Burr.

But, before I could think of how Burr would see it, there was the crack of a gun and an excruciating pain in my abdomen.

I dropped to the floor with a thump. “Good god,” Pendleton cried, rushing to my side. From behind Pendleton, I could see Burr rush to me, but Van Ness grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

I almost couldn’t believe it. Burr had really done it. He’d shot me. I could see Burr being rushed off and I wished to jump up and tell him that I forgave him.

After all, a dying man shouldn’t have hate in his heart.

“I am a dead man,” I proclaimed to Pendleton right as Doctor Hosack came into view, and the two men propped me up on a rock.

I turned my head to look at Hosack. “This is a mortal wound, Doctor.” 

Hosack continued to stare blankly at me, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Then, as if freeing himself from a trance, Hosack dropped to his knees, cutting away my already bloodstained clothes.

“What do we do?” Pendleton asked, his voice taught. 

“Hoist him up,” Hosack ordered. “We have to get him back to the city. That’s his best chance of survival.”

I wanted to tell them not to try. I knew that this was a mortal wound. I knew that I was not going to survive this.

I tried to speak, but I felt myself drifting from consciousness. When I awoke again, I was on a boat, the cool breeze hitting my face like a slap.

“My vision is indistinct,” I said quietly, glancing around the boat, quickly recognizing the shape of a pistol.

Had I fired it? I couldn’t remember. 

I flicked my finger at it. “Take care of that pistol. It is undischarged and still cocked. It may go off and do harm.” I inhaled shakily. “Pendleton knows that I did not intend to fire on him.”

“Yes.” Pendleton gestured to Hosack. “I have already told Doctor Hosack that.”

I looked up at the sky, and I wondered if Eliza was yet awake. I wished to see her one final time. Then, I realized.

_Oh, Eliza…_

“Let Mrs. Hamilton be immediately sent for,” I requested. “Let the event be gradually broken to her, but give her hopes.”

The boat shuddered to a stop and I sent a prayer to God. All I asked for was that I saw my dear Eliza one final time.

That was all I asked.

I was taken to William Bayard’s house on Maiden Lane. Soon after, Eliza burst into the room.

“Oh god.” She stumbled back, her hands over her mouth. “My Alexander.”

“Eliza,” I croaked out, taking Eliza’s hand as she neared me. “My love.”

Eliza stared at me for but a moment before she turned to the four surgeons in the room, two American and two French. “You must save him! _Please.”_

I squeezed Eliza’s hand. “Remember, my Eliza, you are a Christian.” Eliza let out a sob, tears streaming down her face.

“You foolish man,” she cried. I forced my hand up, wiping the tears from her eyes. As soon as I did, my arm forcibly fell onto the bed. 

“Don’t cry, my Eliza,” I requested. “Please, don’t.”

Eliza nodded, but her tears didn’t slow. I supposed that I shouldn’t have asked so much of her. “I’m sorry, Eliza.”

Eliza bit her lip, kissing me gently. “Hush, Alexander. Save your strength.”

As soon as Eliza had spoken, the door opened, revealing Angelica. “Oh.” Angelica walked over to Eliza and I as if in a daze. “Now what have you done?”

I laughed, though it hurt. “I’m afraid I’ve had a fatal meeting with our _esteemed_ vice-president, Mr. Burr.”

Angelica’s hands curled into fists. _“Burr.”_ She grinded her teeth together.

I turned again to face Eliza, who was obviously holding back tears. “Remember, my Eliza, you are a Christian,” I repeated, for it was all that I could do.

I hoped that it brought her comfort.

“I have the painful task to inform you that General Hamilton was this morning wounded by that wretch Burr, And we have every reason to hope that he will recover. May I advise that you repair immediately to my father as perhaps he may wish to come down. My dear sister bears with saintlike fortitude this affliction.”

Excerpt of a letter from Angelica Church to her brother, Philip J. Schuyler, 07/11/1804

The Reverend John Mason denied my wishes for communion. Bishop Benjamin Moore did as well, but I was able to convince him to come back at one that afternoon.

As soon as Moore entered the room, I turned to him. “My dear sir, you perceive my unfortunate situation and no doubt have been made acquainted with her circumstances which led me to it. It is my desire to receive the communion at your hands. I hope you will not conceive there is any impropriety in my request.”

Moore sat down beside me. “I hope you know that dueling is a barbarous custom.”

I nodded. “If I live, I swear to renounce the custom.” I raised my hands to the sky. “I have no ill will towards Colonel Burr. I met him with a fixed resolution to do him no harm. I forgive all that happened.”

Moore sighed and nodded, giving me my communion. When it was over, I closed my eyes, exhaling deeply.

“I’m at peace.”

The next morning, to my immense surprise, I was still alive. As the hours ticked by, I requested that Eliza bring our children in, so that I may gaze upon them one final time.

They entered the room and Eliza lined them up at the end of the bed where I lay. I glanced over each of them, praying to god that they’d be alright and that they’d be there for my beloved Eliza.

Eliza stepped closer to me, raising Phil up to my lips, and I brushed my lips over his cheek, the desire to cry suddenly coursing through my veins.

I closed my eyes and turned my head, unable to look at my children any longer.

I did not reopen my eyes until they were taken from the room.

A few moments later, my friend, Gouverneur Morris, stepped out of the room, wiping his eyes as he did.

“If they break this Union, they will break my heart,” I said absently, thinking of this Union that I’d fought so hard to create.

I desperately hoped, with every fiber in my being, that our little American experiment would succeed. I had fought too hard and lost too much for it not to.

“Remember, my Eliza, you are a Christian,” I reminded Eliza, using the last of my strength to say those words, as it was all I could offer Eliza.

I took a breath— it was getting harder and harder to breathe— turning to look at Angelica. I smiled softly at her. I knew that Angelica would watch over Eliza. She would be there for Eliza whenever she was needed.

Then, I turned to look at Eliza, smiling up at my beautiful, amazing wife, whom I had never quite been worthy of.

As I looked at her, I felt nothing but gratitude bloom in my heart at simply having been blessed to have her in my life. Eliza was stronger than anyone— myself included— knew, and I’d relied on her more than I’d realized. And, in that moment, I felt utterly at peace.

I trusted Eliza to go on, to _thrive._ And of course she would. She truly was the best of wives and best of women.

With that, I allowed myself to relax. 

_I was ready._

I spared one final glance at my Eliza— oh, how I couldn’t wait to be reunited with her— before closing my eyes and allowing John to take my hand.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I’m SO sorry that this chapter took so long to get out. Also, I know I always say this, but THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of the comments and kudos. It makes my day is a great motivation to write. And, as I’m done with this particular story, I just wanted to say: thank you for all of you guys’ support. Anyways, some notes:  
> 1\. The Manhattan Company was a thing that actually did happen, and Burr did successfully fool Hamilton. Hamilton, as you can imagine, was NOT pleased.  
> 2\. The candle thing during The People vs. Levi Weeks did actually happen, although we don’t if it was Hamilton or Burr who did it. As you can tell, I decided on Hamilton. Also, pretty much all of the dialogue during that trial is from the transcripts of said trial.  
> 3\. Burr did actually show up on Hamilton’s door in early 1804 asking for money, and Hamilton did actually help him. He ended up giving Burr a loan, via John Barker Church.  
> 4\. Most of the dialogue surrounding the Hamilton/Burr duel is historically accurate.  
> 5\. Chapter One of the sequel to this about Eliza’s life after the duel, called Best of Wives and Best of Women, is up! If you’d be so kind as to check it out and leave feedback, I’d really appreciate it!  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you so much, again, for all of the comments and kudos, and I hope you all have a nice day!
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. I know this is short, but the next chapter is much longer. This will be as historically accurate as is possible, by the way. Updates at least once a week, I hope you enjoyed, and have a nice day.
> 
> (Also, don’t feel pressured to leave comments or Kudos, but it would be nice.)


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